UNIVERSITY  OF 
ILLINOIS  LIBRARY 
AT  URBANA-CKAMPA1GN 
STACKS 


SUPPRESSED  SENSATIONS; 


OR, 


LEAVES 


FROM   THE 


NOTE  BOOK  OF  A  CHICAGO  REPORTER. 


ILLUSTRATED. 


Chicago : 
RAND,    McNALLY    &    CO. 

1879. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1879,  ty 

RAND,  McNALLY  &  CO., 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington,  D.  C. 


£tf- 


TO   THE  READER. 


'HE  collection  of  stories  here 
presented  form  the  "abstract 
and  brief  chronicle"  of  certain 
events  which  from  time  to  time 
have  come  under  the  notice  of  the 
writer.  In  a  few  instances  a  part  of 
the  story  has  found  its  way  into  the  news- 
papers, but  in  the  majority  of  cases  the 
"sensations"  were  literally  "suppressed."  For  obvious 
reasons  some  changes  have  been  made  in  names  and 
locations,  but  the  tales  are  substantially  what  they  pur- 
port to  be  —  Leaves  from  the  Note  Book  of  a 

REPORTER. 


0 


CONTENTS. 


PAGES 

LEAF      I.  A  MYSTERIOUS  MURDER,-  -       5 —  26 

"         II.  THE  ROMANCE  OF  A  TRAMP,  27 —  48 

"       III.  THE  CARNIVAL'S  VICTIM,  -      49 —  74 

"        IV.  THE  STORY  OP  A  WAIF,        -  75 —  94 

"         V.  THE  TELL-TALE  SKULL,  -  -      95—122 

"        VI.  -JANET  AND  JAMIE,                 •  123—138 

"      VII.  THE  WITNESS  FROM  THE  DEAD,  -    139—154 

"    VIII.  FANNY  MORDAUNT'S  LOVE,    -  155—174 

"       IX.  THE  MAN  WITH  THE  COMICAL  HAT,  -    175—186 

X.  TRUE  LOVE  AND  FALSE  FRIENDSHIP,  187—198 

"       XI.  "PizuN  JACK"  OF  TEXAS,           -  -    199—214 

"     XII.  GLORIA  — A  TALE  OF  FOUR  CITIES,  -  215—242 

"    XIII.  LORD  ULLIN'S  DAUGHTER,           -  -    243 — 254 


LEAF    I. 


A  MYSTERIOUS  MURDER, 


HICAGO  has  always- 
been  notorious  for  its. 
criminals.  Other  cit- 
ies can  boast  of  des- 
perate thieves,  thugs, 
and  murderers,  but 
for  ingenious  rascality 
and  blood  -  curdling 
scoundrelism,  the  out- 
laws of  the  Gardea 
City  carry  off  the 
palm.  No  satisfactory  explanation  of 
our  excessive  criminality  has  ever  been 
given,  and  it  is  not  my  purpose  to  attempt 
one.  It  may  be  that  the  lax  administration 
of  justice  in  the  city  encourages  the  thief  and 
midnight  assassin ;  it  may  be  that  our  citizens 

(5) 


•  Cti 


8  Suppressed  Sensations. 

have  learned  to  look  upon  pre-eminence  in  vice 
and  wickedness  as  an  additional  feather  in  the 
cap  of  the  Northwestern  metropolis  ;  it  may  be 
that  our  unchecked  gambling  dens  and  our  un- 
bridled saloons  have  had  the  effect  of  making  our 
criminals  more  reckless  and  daring  than  the  same 
class  in  other  cities.  Whatever  the  cause,  such 
is  the  fact. 

But  it  is  not  alone  in  the  lower  and  brutal  grades 
-of  crime  that  Chicago  stands  pre-eminent.  A  cer- 
tain looseness  of  morals  exists  which  has  no  par- 
allel in  any  other  city  in  the  world.  The  divorce 
courts  are  blocked  with  business,  and  the  deadly 
canker  of  domestic  infelicity  is  daily  destroying 
thousands  of  homes  which  should  be  temples  of 
love  and  joy  and  peace. 

Strange  and  horrible  crimes  often  spring  from 
this  domestic  discord.  This  leaf  will  reveal  one 
of  many  features  of  horror  and  painful  sadness. 
It  will  show  to  what  extent  misguided  passion 
will  lead  its  victims — to  what  extreme  a  deceived 
woman  will  go  for  revenge. 

.  In  the  spring  of  1873  the  community  was 
shocked  by  the  murder  of  a  prominent  citizen 
in  one  of  the  best  known  and  most  splendidly 
appointed  of  our  hotels.  A  number  of  mysterious 


A  Mysterious  Murder. 


circumstances  surrounded  the  case.  The  man — a 
large  and  prosperous  merchant — had  visited  the 
hotel  alone  early  in  the  evening,  and  registering 
as  "Jas.  Russell,  Cleveland,  Ohio,"  engaged  a 
room  for  the  night.  He  told  the  clerk  that  his 
wife,  who  was  visiting  friends  at  Evanston,  would 
arrive  at  the  hotel  within  an  hour  or  two,  and  he 
gave  instructions  that  she  should  be  shown  up 
to  his  apartment.  In,  the  meantime  he  would  lie 
down  and  rest,  as  he  felt  somewhat  sick.  • 

About  half-past  nine,  a  lady  closely  veiled  but 
answering  the  description  given,  inquired  for  Mr. 
James  Russell,  and  was  shown  to  the  room.  The 
lights  were  burning  very  low,  and  the  gentleman 
was  apparently  asleep  on  the  couch.  The  lady 
sat  down  by  his  side  and  stroked  his  head  caress- 
ingly, but  did  not  wake  him.  This  much  the 
attendant  saw  before  closing  the  door. 

M. .  Russell  had  requested  to  be  called  at  eight 
the  next  morning.  At  that  hour  a  domestic 
rapped  at  the  door,  but  getting  no  response,  she 
knocked  and  knocked  again,  and,  receiving  no 
answer,  turned  the  handle.  To  her  surprise  the 
door  was  not  locked.  She  opened  it  and  looking 
into  the  apartment  saw  Russell  was  lying  on  the 
couch.  She  approached  with  the  intention  of 


8  Suppressed,  Sensations. 

arousing  him,  but  started  back  in  horror  when 
she  saw  a  bullet  wound  in  his  forehead,  and  a 
pool  of  blood  on  the  floor. 

The  rest  of  the  house  was  speedily  aroused, 
and  a  scene  of  the  wildest  excitement  ensued. 
Messengers  were  hurriedly  dispatched  to  the 
police  head-quarters,  and  the  office  of  the  coroner. 
There  was  great  commotion  and  consternation 
among  the  guests.  Doctors  were  summoned,  and 
declared  that  Mr.  Russell  had  been  dead  a  num- 
ber of  hours.  Search  was  made  for  the  weapon, 
but  none  was  found.  No  one  remembered  the 
lady  leaving  the  house.  No  one  could  give  an 
intelligent  description  of  her  appearance.  She 
was  a  stranger  to  the  neighborhood. 

The  position  of  the  wound,  as  well  as  the 
course  of  the  bullet,  precluded  the  idea  of 
suicide.  It  was  evident  that  Russell  had  been 
murdered,  and  that  the  assassin  was  the  lady 
with  whom  he  had  an  appointment  the  night 
before. 

These,  in  brief,  were  the  facts  which  came  out 
on  the  inquest.  Detective  skill  was  employed  to 
ferret  out  the  murderess.  Days,  weeks  and 
months  passed,  but  the  crime  remained  shrouded 
in  mystery.  The  house  suffered  greatly.  It  was, 


A  Mysterious  Murder.  9 

although  not  one  of  the  largest,  yet  one  of  the 
finest  in  the  city,  and  patronized  by  high  class 
customers,  who  preferred  its  quiet  elegance  and 
home  comforts  to  the  more  pretentious  glitter  of 
the  great  hotels.  But  from  this  time  its  decay 
was  rapid,  and  it  has  never  recovered  from  the 
shock. 

Mr.  Russell  was  a  married  man,  as  well  as  a 
member  of  one  of  the  fashionable  churches,  and 
his  sudden  and  horrible  death  was  a  great  shock 
to  those  who  knew  him.  For  weeks  the  matter 
was  discussed  in  social  circles,  and  expressions 
of  horror  were  heard  on  all  sides. 

The  domestic  relationships  of  the  murdered 
man  had  always  seemed  calm  and  felicitous.  His 
wife  was  a  pretty,  well-formed  brunette,  of  rare 
intelligence  and  accomplishments.  She  was  de- 
voted to  her  husband,  who  in  turn  appeared  to 
lose  ro  opportunity  of  paying  her  attentions  gen- 
erally deemed  outside  the  regulation  duty  of  a 
well-established  spouse. 

Their  residence  on  Michigan  avenue  was  a 
model  of  comfort  and  refinement.  Each  season 
small  parties  had  been  given  by  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Russell,  which  were  famed  in  social  circles  for 
good  taste  and  pleasurable  success. 


10  Suppressed  Sensations. 

At  the  inquest,  and  for  several  months  after- 
wards, the  widow  was  bowed  down  with  grief. 
She  testified  always  to  the  deep  affection  which 
her  husband  had  shown  since  marriage,  and  tears 
coursed  down  her  cheeks  when  she  related  the 
many  acts  of  love  and  kindness  he  had  per- 
formed. She  was  heart-broken  at  the  manner  of 
his  death,  and  any  allusion  thereto  caused  her  to 
break  down  in  a  painful  fit  of  weeping. 

Six  months  after  the  tragedy,  still  the  same 
sorrowing,  grief-stricken  woman,  Mrs.  Russell 
broke  up  her  establishment  and  went  East.  For 
some  time  her  most  intimate  friends  lost  sight  of 
her. 

In  due  time  the  daily  press  dropped  the  sen- 
sation. It  ran  the  usual  course.  Other  horrors 
intervened,  and  the  interest  in  the  Eussell  mur- 
der was  swamped. 

While  working  up  the  case  I  became  acquainted 
with  a  young  detective  named  Harris.  He  was 
an  enthusiast  in  his  profession,  and  naturally 
took  a  great  interest  in  this  mysterious  affair. 
Every  now  and  then  he  would  advance  a  theory 
directly  opposed  to  the  popular  one,  and  I  would 
as  frequently  pooh-pooh  him  into  silence.  But 
Harris  kept  on  in  his  course  of  investigation, 


12  Suppressed -Sensations. 

and  had  great  hopes  of  pocketing  the  $1,000  re- 
ward offered  by  the  widow  for  the  apprehension 
and  conviction  of  the  murderess. 

In  justice  to  the  detective  profession,  without 
going  into  details  I  may  state  that  Harris'  theory 
did  not  turn  out  correct. 

Its  elaboration,  however,  resulted  in  the  unrav- 
-elment  of  the  crime,  and  the  motives  which 
prompted  it.  Harris  was  as  much  shocked  at 
the  denouement  as  the  writer  was,  and  as  the 
reader  undoubtedly  will  be. 

One  evening  in  the  autumn  of  1875  Harris 
called  upon  me  in  the  office,  and  said  he  had 
something  of  unusual  importance  for  my  private 
^ar.  I  dispatched  my  work  as  rapidly  as  possi- 
ble, and  we  repaired  to  an  out-of-the-way  beer 
saloon,  where  we  could  talk  with  freedom. 

The  story  which  Harris  unfolded  was  deeply 
interesting.  I  will  give  it,  as  near  as  possible,  in 
his  own  words : 

"You  remember  the  Russell  murder,  Frank? 
I  have  got  the  right  scent  at  last.  Don' t  laugh 
until  you  hear  what  I  have  to  say.  I'  ve  said 
little  about  the  matter  lately,  but  I  have  been 
working  unceasingly  on  the  case.  I  have  dis- 
covered the  murderess ! ' ' 


A  Mysterious  Murder.  13 

I  suppose  I  looked  incredulous,  for  Harris  con- 
tinued, in  a  nettled  tone,  "Now,  don't  make  a 
fool  of  yourself  until  you  hear  the  facts.  You 
must  promise  me  faithfully  that  you  will  keep 
the  thing  quiet  until  I  give  you  permission  to 
publish." 

Newspaper  men  are  often  called  upon  to  give 
pledges  of  this  character,  and  I  had  no  hesita- 
tion in  passing  my  word/  that  nothing  should  be 
revealed  until  Harris  was  ready. 

"You  remember/'  resumed  the  young  detect- 
ive, "my  old  theory.  I  never  told  the  circum- 
stances upon  which  it  was  based,  but  I  must 
communicate  them  now  for  you  to  properly 
understand  what  I  am  going  to  tell  you.  You 
remember  that  the  servant  who  ushered  the 
strange  lady  into  the  room  where  Russell  was 
resting  on  the  couch,  told  of  her  caressingly 
stroking  the  victim' s  head.  I  need  not  tell  you 
that  it  is  almost  impossible  for  a  woman  to  be  so 
near  a  man  and  leave  no  trace  of  her  presence. 
I  am  a  married  man  and  have  often  felt  sheepish 
when  my  wife  has  picked  a  long  hair  from  my 
coat,  although  I  could  take  an  oath  that  I  had 
been  up  to  nothing  wrong.  Well,  I  carefully 
examined  Russell's  coat  collar,  afH  was  rewarded 


14  Suppressed  Sensations. 

by  finding  a  hair  six  inches  in  length.  It  is 
here." 

Harris  pulled  out  his  pocket-book  and  pro- 
duced a  yellow  hair,  carefully  wrapped  in  tissue 
paper.  I  examined  it,  but  could  not  see  that  it 
differed  from  other  yellow  hairs.  The  detective 
must  have  noticed  this  from  the  expression  of 
my  face,  since  he  proceeded  with  his  yarn  with 
a  smile  indicative  of  superior  wisdom. 

"When  I  secured  this  prize,  I  knew  I  had  a 
clue  which  might  lead  to  the  detection  of  the 
murderess.  I  jumped  to  the  conclusion  that  the 
man  had  been  killed  by  a  blonde,  and  for  weeks 
I  tried  to  discover  who  the  fair  fiend  was.  My 
first  step  was  to  find  out  whether  Russell  had 
been  in  the  habit  of  'going  around.'  Careful 
inquiries  revealed  the  fact  that,  like  some  other 
married  men,  he  was  not  averse  to  forbidden 
fruit.  But  all  my  efforts  to  connect  him  with  a 
fair-haired  woman  were  fruitless.  He  seemed  to 
have  had  a  special  liking  for  dark  beauties. 

"I  pumped  the  widow  to  ascertain  whether 
she  knew  aught  of  her  husband's  public  habits, 
but  she  persisted  in  the  statement  that  Mr. 
Russell  acted  in  every  respect  like  a  model 
husband.  Theflrervants  could  give  me  no  §atis- 


A  Mysterious  Murder.  15 

faction  with  regard  to  quarrels  or  jealous  out- 
bursts. Had  it  not  been  for  the  knowledge  I 
gained  outside,  I  should  have  been  forced  to  the 
conclusion  that  the  murdered  merchant's  charac- 
ter was  of  the  most  correct  and  exemplary  kind. 
"While  musing  over  the  case  in  a  country 
hotel,  one  day,  I  happened  to  pick  up  an  old 
and  tattered  copy  of  a  Chicago  daily.  My  eye 
came  across  the  following  *  personal ' : 

"OEAUTIFUL  BLONDE.— Will  the  lady  who  recognized  the 
•*-*  gentleman  at  the  corner  of  State  and  Madison,  yesterday, 
send  her  address,  in  confidence,  to  R.,  Box  595,  Post  Office. 

"It  may  have  been  the  word  'blonde,'  jump- 
ing with  the  subject  uppermost  in  my  mind,  or  it 
may  have  been  some  kind  of  magnetic  inspira- 
tion, but  a  queer  sort  of  sensation  ran  through 
my  system,  and  I  felt  that  I  had  struck  another 
link  in  the  chain  of  evidence,  which  would  lead 
up  to  the  detection  and  punishment  of  the  assas- 
sin. I  looked  at  the  heading  of  the  paper.  It 
was  dated  six  days  before  the  murder.  I  seized 
a  time  table  and  found  that  a  train  left  for  Chi- 
cago in  fifteen  minutes.  To  settle  my  bill  and 
leave  my  job  in  the  hands  of  an  assistant,  was 
the  work  of  but  a  few  moments,  and  I  was  soon 
speeding  towards  Chicago. 


16  Suppressed  Sensations. 

"On  arriving,  I  took  a  carriage  and  drove  at 
once  to  the  post  office.  My  suspicion  was  con- 
firmed. Box  595,  at  the  time  of  the  murder,  was 
held  by  Russell ! 

"I  at  once  sought  a  consultation  with  my 
chief.  He  was  almost  as  excited  as  myself. 
'Harry,  my  boy,'  he  said,  'you  have  struck  it; 
go  ahead.'  We  agreed  upon  a  plan  of  opera- 
tions, but  I  need  not  bore  you  with  its  details. 

"I  hunted  up  the  domestic  who  accompanied 
the  strange  lady  to  the  room  of  Mr.  R.  She 
repeated  the  story  of  the  female  visitor  on  the 
fatal  night  being  closely  veiled,  and  added  that 
her  voice  was  soft  and  bell-like,  and  she  had 
yellow  hair. 

"I  searched  the  files  of  the  daily  paper  in 
which  the  advertisement  appeared,  but  could 
find  no  other  '  personal '  which  seemed  to  bear 
on  the  case.  Two  things  were  certain  :  that  Mr. 
Russell  had  sought  an  appointment  with  a 
blonde  lady,  and  that  the  mysterious  visitor  at 
the  -  -  hotel  had  yellow  hair. 

"But  what  motive  could  a  strange  woman 
have  in  murdering  Russell  ?  Plunder  was  not 
the  object,  since  his  gold  watch,  money  and 
other  valuables  were  left  untouched  on  his  per- 


A  Mysterious  Murder.  17 

son.  There  was  no  evidence  pointing  towards  a 
quarrel.  The  position  of  the  dead  body  clearly 
indicated  that  the  man  was  lying  peacefully  on 
the  couch  when  the  fatal  shot  was  fired. 

"I  tried  every  means  known  to  the  profession, 
to  discover  whether  Russell  had  received  a  letter 
from  the  blonde.  No  papers  of  any  consequence 
were  found  in  the  pockets  of  the  murdered  man. 
From  a  former  clerk  in  TCussell'  s  office,  I  learned 
that  the  second  day  after  the  appearance  of  the 
advertisement,  among  the  letters  was  one  ad- 
dressed simply  with  an  initial  and  the  number  of 
the  post  office  box.  This  the  merchant  read  first, 
and  thrust  into  the  rear  pocket  of  his  pants. 
Two  days  afterwards  another  letter  in  the  same 
handwriting,  but  fully  addressed,  came,  and  was 
torn  up  after  being  read  by  Mr.  Russell. 

"I  sought  an  interview  with  the  widow.  She 
told  mo,  through  her  sobs,  that  her  husband  had 
stated  he  would  not  be  home  early,  on  the  even- 
ing of  the  murder.  He  gave  no  reason  and  she 
did  not  ask  one. 

"This  last  remark  struck  me  as  rather  singu- 
lar. Was  he  in  the  habit  of  staying  out  late 
without  tendering  '<*  reason  or  excuse  \  No,  she 
had  never  known  it  to  happen  before. 


18  Suppressed  Sensations. 

"This,  also,  struck  me  as  singular.  The 
most  exemplary  husbands  stay  out  now  and 
then,  and  I  thought  Mrs.  Russell,  instead  of 
trying  to  aid  me  in  the  search  for  the  assassin, 
was  knowingly  keeping  back  necessary  infor- 
mation. 

"I  left  the  widow,  after  making  arrangements 
for  another  interview.  To  my  astonishment  the 
next  day  her  residence  was  advertised  for  imme- 
diate sale,  the  furniture  to  be  auctioned  the  fol- 
lowing day. 

"  I  attended  the  sale.  The  goods  were  sold  at 
an  immense  sacrifice,  and  a  chum  of  mine  took 
advantage  of  the  opportunity  to  purchase  a 
bureau  for  his  bedroom.  Mrs.  Russell  had  taken 
up  temporary  quarters  at  the  Palmer  House. 

"On  getting  the  bureau  to  his  lodgings,  my 
friend  began  to  dust  out  the  drawers.  On  open- 
ing one  he  found  an  old  yellow  wig,  done  up  in  a 
fashionable  shape.  He  mentioned  the  circum- 
stance to  me,  and  I  persuaded  him  to  give  me 
the  wig,  on  the  ground  that  it  would  be  useful  in 
my  professional  pursuits. 

"I  lost  no  time  in  taking  my  treasure  to  the 
office,  I  compared  the  hair  of  the  wig  with  the 
one  I  picked  from  off  Russell's  coat  collar. 


; 

A  Mysterious  Miirder. 


They  were  exactly  alike  in  color  and  texture.  I 
procured  a  strong  microscope  and  by  the  aid  of 
its  piercing  vision  found  similarities  which  could 
not  be  seen  by  the  naked  eye.  I  went  in  search 
of  all  the  yellow  wigs  in  the  city.  With  none 
did  the  hair  correspond  in  every  particular  as 
with  the  wig  found  in  the  bureau. 

"I  became  convinced  that  the  person  who  shot 
Russell  wore  that  old  ye] low  wig! 

"But  to  make  assurance  doubly  sure,  I  con- 
sulted an  able  scientist — a  gentleman  who  has 
rendered  valuable  services  in  numerous  intricate 
murder  cases.  I  entrusted  the  single  hair  to  his 
hands,  with  a  request  that  he  should  make  a 
report  as  to  its  peculiarities,  if  it  possessed  any. 
In  two  weeks'  time  I  received  his  report.  It  was, 
of  course,  full  of  technicalities  and  scientific 
jargon,  but  the  pith  was  that  the  hair  had  not 
fallen  from  the  head  of  a  living  person ! 

"His  reasons  for  this  opinion  were  abstruse, 
but  were  none  the  less  convincing.  He  pointed 
out  certain  peculiarities  about  the  roots  of  hu- 
man hair  which  he  failed  to  find  in  the  one  I  had 
submitted  for  his  inspection.  This,  he  was  pre- 
pared to  prove  by  scientific  reasoning,  was  cut 
from  a  woman's  head. 


20 


Suppressed  Sensatibns. 


"I  next  took  him  the  yellow  wig,  and  after  a 
few  moments  of  comparison,  he  positively  de- 
clared that  the  hair  which  I  had  taken  from  the 
coat  collar  dropped  therefrom  !  " 

Harris  paused  at  this  juncture.  He  evidently 
expected  me  to  make  some  remark,  and  I  asked 
if  he  had  imparted  to  me  the  full  extent  of  his 
researches. 


A  Mysterious  Murder.  21 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  emphatically  ;  "But  I  can 
lay  my  finger  on  the  murderess  at  any  moment ! " 

"Who  in  the  world  is  she?"  I  inquired,  half 
expecting  what  his  answer  would  be. 

"Mrs.  Russell,"  was  the  rejoinder,  given  in  a 
stage  whisper. 

"But  the  finding  of  this  wig  in  a  bureau 
which  formerly  belonged  to  her  is  not  conclusive 
proof  that  she  committed  the  horrible  crime,"  I 
reasoned. 

"Perhaps  not  to  the  reportorial  mind,  but  it  is 
to  mine.  Listen.  The  stories  the  widow  has 
told  about  their  happy  marital  relations  are  all 
bosh.  My  theory  now  is,  that  she  loved  Russell 
to  distraction.  His  pecadillos  became  known  to 
her,  and  she  was  fired  with  jealousy.  She  saw 
this  '  personal '  I  have  spoken  of.  She  answered 
it,  appointing  a  time  and  place  of  meeting.  Her 
whole  moral  nature  revolted  at  this  last  evidence 
of  her  husband' s  infidelity.  She  worked  herself 
up  to  a  frenzy  of  passion.  She  determined  to  keep 
the  appointment,  perhaps  at  first  with  the  hope 
that  she  might  win  Russell  back  to  a  life  of 
rectitude.  She  disguised  herself  in  the  old  wig, 
the  better  to  carry  out  her  plans.  She  entered 
the  room  and  found  her  recreant  spouse  sleeping 


22  Suppressed  Sensations. 

calmly  while  awaiting  the  coming  of  another. 
The  demon  of  revenge  and  hatred  got  possession 
of  her.  She  fired  the  fatal  shot  and  sent  the 
guilty  soul  of  her  husband  into  eternity  !  Then 
she  hurried  from  the  house.  I  am  ready  to  stake 
my  professional  reputation  on  the  correctness  of 
this  theory." 

I  muttered  something  about  its  being  strange 
that  none  of  the  inmates  of  the  house  heard  the 
report  of  the  pistol. 

"Oh,"  said  Harris,  "there  is  nothing  peculiar 
about  that.  You  know  the  racket  that  is 
often  kicked  up  in  the  parlors  of  .hotels.  My 
explanation  is,  that  there  was  a  boisterous 
party  in  the  house  at  the  time,  and  the  noise 
of  the  shot  escaped  attention  amid  the  general 
confusion." 

"  Well,  what  do  you  propose  to  do  ? "  was  my 
next  query. 

"Do?"  he  rejoined,  with  a  glitter  of  excite- 
meiit  in  his  eyes,  "I  am  going  to  frighten  her 
into  a  confession.  If  I  can  bring  this  case  to  a 
successful  end, I  am  made  for  life.  It's  too  good 
a  chance  for  a  young  fellow  to  miss." 

He  then  told  me  that  Mrs.  Russell  was  in  Boston 
living  quietly  with  some  relatives.  Next  day  he 


A  Mysterious  Murder. 


was  to  start  East  to  put  his  plan  into  execution. 
I  was  to  be  prepared  to  write  up  the  sensation 
big  on  the  receipt  of  telegraphic  intimation  of  hi& 
success.  In  the  meantime  I  was  to  keep  my  own 
counsel. 

The  following  day  I  was  surprised  by  an- 
other visit  from  the  detective.  There  was  a 
troubled,  disappointed  look  on  his  face,  and 
I  at  once  thought  that  his  pet  theory  had 
collapsed  in  some  way  or  other.  He  did  not 
wait  for  questions,  but  in  a  sepulchral  tone 
exclaimed  : 

"It's  all  over.     Mrs.  Russell  is  dead  !  " 

After  recovering  from  my  astonishment,  I 
asked  eagerly  for  particulars. 

"  Read  these,"  he  replied,  thrusting  two  letters 
into  my  hands. 

The  tirst  contained  a  simple  announcement  that 
Mrs.  Russell  had  died  very  suddenly,  and  that 
among  her  papers  the  second  letter  was  found 
securely  sealed,  with  an  indorsement  that'  it 
should  be  sent  to  Harris  immediately  after  the 
writer'  s  death. 

It  is  necessary  for  the  purposes  of  this  narra- 
tive that  the  sealed  letter  should  be  given  in  fulL 
It  was  as  follows  : 


24  Suppressed  Sensations. 

"To  MR.  H.  HARRIS, 

" 's  Detective  Agency,  Chicago. 

"  MY  DEAR  FRIEND — I  feel  that  my  life  is  fast  ebbing  away. 
Before  I  die  I  wish  to  make  a  confession  which  perhaps  inter- 
ests you  now  more  than  any  one  else.  It  is  hard  to  do  so,  but  I 
feel  I  must.  The  shocking  truth  must  come  out. 

"  My  husband  met  his  death  at  my  hands ! 

"I  know  this  horrible  revelation  will  shock  you  deeply,  but 
I  make  it  so  that  you  need  not  look  any  further  for  the 
murderer. 

"  I  was  driven  to  the  deed  by  jealousy.  I  loved  my  husband 
•dearly — so  dearly  that  I  preferred  his  death  to  dishonor, — for 
is  it  not  dishonorable  to  leave  a  lawful,  loving  wife  for  the 
embraces  of  lewd  and  mercenary  women  ? 

"The   appointment  at  the Hotel  was  made  with  me.     I 

saw  a  '  personal '  in  a  morning  paper  and  answered  it  under  a 
false  name.  The  burning  words  of  love  with  which  my  husband 
replied  made  me  wild.  I  could  think  of  nothing  butmydis-, 
-carded  affection.  I  could  not  keep  down  the  mad  promptings  of 
revenge. 

"Ivisitedthe  house,  disguised  in  a  blonde  wig  which  I  had  often 
used  in  private  theatricals.  My  husband  was  asleep  on  the  couch. 
For  &  moment  my  resolution  staggered.  I  stroked  his  head 
gently,  and  had  thoughts  of  falling  at  his  feet  and  beseeching 
him  to  give  me  back  his  love.  He  muttered  a  name  in  his  sleep, 
which  froze  my  good  resolve. 

"I  sprang  from  his  side.  A  paroxysm  of  rage  and  jealousy 
seized  me.  I  raised  a  pistol  and  fired !  The  bullet  did  its  work 
only  too  well.  My  husband  neither  moved  nor  groaned.  I  saw 
the  blood  ooze  from  his  temple  and  knew  that  I  had  killed 
iiim  !  I  rushed  from  the  house.  The  shot  had  not  been  heard, 


A  Mysterious  Murder.  25- 

for  the  sound  of  the   piano  and  of  conversation  and  merry 
laughter  still  came  from  the  parlor. 

.  "  I  went  home.  My  absence  had  not  been  noticed.  I  was. 
possessed  with  a  stony  calmness.  I  undressed  and  went  to  bed 
as  usual,  and,  strange  to  say,  I  slept. 

"  No  sooner  had  !•  awoke  in  the  morning  than  the  terrible 
crime  flashed  upon  nie  in  all  its  naked  horror.  I  thought  of 
giving  myself  up  to  justice,  but  eventually  decided  that  enough 
misery  had  been  imposed  on  our  families  by  my  rash  deed.  I 
nerved  myself  up  to  act  the  part  which  you  witnessed. 

"All  the  time  my  heart  was  breaking.  Oh!  the  pangs  of 
remorse  I  suffered ! 

"  I  tried  to  ease  my  conscience  by  telling  of  my  husband's- 
love  and  devoted  attention.  But  the  experiment  only  imposed 
upon  me  two-fold  misery.  At  last  I  was  compelled  to  leave  the 
scene  of  my  crime. 

"But  travel  did  not  cure  the  canker  of  remorse.  Wherever  I 
went  I  saw  the  dead  body  of  my  husband,  with  the  blood  oozing- 
out  of  his  ghastly  forehead. 

"  I  came  to  my  relatives  here.  I  knew  I  had  not  long  to  live. 
The  excitement  of  the  previous  year  had  undermined  a  constitu- 
tion never  strong.  I  write  now  with  the  cold  sweat  of  death  on 
my  hands. 

"  I  make  this  confession  to  you  freely.  You  deserve  as  much 
from  my  hands,  since  you  have  spent  many  weary  hours  in 
unraveling  what  is  no  longer  a  mystery  to  you. 

"  Do  with  this  what  you  please.  I  have  no  request  to  make. 
But  oh !  remember  that  you  have  in  your  keeping  the  horri- 
ble secret  of  a  woman,  soon  to  be  cold  in  death,  who  was 
driven  to  crime  by  an  unrequited  passion. 

''Farewell!     God  bless  you  !  ADA  RUSSELL.'* 


26 


Suppressed  Sensations. 


I  must  say  that  the  pathos  of  these  dying 
words  of  a  wretched  woman  affected  me  deeply. 
Harris  seemed  also  very  much  cut  up.  We 
consulted  as  to  the  advisability  of  publishing 
full  particulars  of  the  crime.  Harris,  however, 
sank  all  feelings  of  personal  ambition,  and 
declared  against  publication  on  the  ground  that 
it  could  do  no  possible  good.  Although  such  a 
splendid  "scoop"  would  have  added  vastly 
to  my  reputation,  out  of  feelings  of  humanity  I 
agreed  to  suppress  the  sensation. 


LEAF     II. 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  A  TRAMP. 


LONG  in  the  sum- 
mer of  1878  I  was 
sojourning   for  a 
few   days  in   the 
little  town  of 

C- ,  on  the 

p  Illinois     Cen- 
tral Road,  en- 
gaged  in   the 
laborious    task 
^of    collecting    in- 
formation about  the 
crops,    and   naturally 
enough  I  found  a  breath- 
ing place  in   the   only   re- 
spectable   hotel    the    village 
boasted    of.      The   landlord,    a 
gossipy,   genial  fellow,    had    for- 
merly been  a  hotel  clerk  in  Chicago, 


28  Suppressed  Sensations. 


and  remembered  me  as  an  indomitable  investi- 
gator into  the  mysteries  of  his  register  in  old 
days.  It  wa.s,  perhaps,  to  this  circumstance  that 
I  was  indebted  for  an  inside  glimpse^  into  the 
strange,  eventful  history  I  am  about  to  relate. 

The  village  was  suffering  at  the  time  from  the 
annual  influx  of  tramps,  and  mine  host  had  had 
his  full  share  of  the  infliction — or,  as  he  called  it, 
the  inflation. 

"The  devil  take  them  all,"  said  he,  in  a  burst 
of  honest  indignation — but,  suddenly  checking 
himself,  he  added — "and  still,  poor  devils,  they 
are  perhaps  not  all  to  blame  for  their  miseries." 

"There's  a  case,"  he  continued,  "that  I  have 
somehow  taken  an  unaccountable  interest  in, 
because  it  don't  seem  quite  a  common  case  of 
tramp." 

The  "case"  referred  to  was  sitting  on  the  top 
of  an  empty  beer  keg,  munching  a  crust  of  bread, 
and  seeming  to  pay  no  attention  to  what  was 
going  on  around  him,  except  when  the  landlord's 
glance  turned  in  his  direction,  when  he  would 
make  an  uneasy  movement,  and  pull  his  cap 
down  over  his  eyes  as  if  seeking  to  shun 
scrutiny.  He  was  a  haggard,  woe-begone  look- 
ing individual,  without  anything  to  mark  him 


Romance  of  a  Tramp.  29 


as  distinct  from  the  ordinary  vagrant,  save  a  cer- 
tain something  that  denoted  a  kind  of  frayed 
gentility. 

UI  have  met  that  man  somewhere,"  pursued 
the  landlord,  "  and  I'm  going  to  find  out  where. 
I  think  I'll  give  him  a  bed  for  the  night,  just  for 
fun." 

And  he  followed  up  his  resolve  by  at  once 
going  to  the  stranger  and  proffering  him  a  shelter 
for  the  night. 

As  the  man  turned  round  to  say  a  word  of 
thanks,  my  Boniface,  after  a  keen  look  into  the 
other' s  face,  seized  him  sharply  by  the  arm,  and 
exclaimed : 

"Look  here,  haven't  I  met  you  somewhere 
before?" 

"That's  hardly  likely,"  said  the  man,  "  for  I 
have  never  been  in  this  part  of  the  country  till 
now."  i 

"  Isn't  your  name  Howson,  and  weren't  you  a 
doctor  of  medicine  in  New  Hampshire  once?" 

The  effect  of  this  question  was  to  start  the 
stranger  to  his  feet,  and  to  cause  the  sweat  to 
stand  in  beads  upon  his  brow. 

"  For  God's  sake,"  he  gasped,  in  a  beseeching 
tone,  "don't  say  a  word.  You  wouldn't  give 


30  Suppressed  Sensations. 


me  away,  would  you  ?  How  did  you  know  me  ? 
Do  you  know  who  I  am  ? " 

"If  I'm  not  mistaken,  I  think  I  know  you 
pretty  well.  I  have  a  good  memory  for  faces- 
it's  my  business,  you  know.  So  your  name  is 
Howson,  then?" 

"  Well,  what  if  it  is,"  said  the  stranger,  sul- 
lenly, "  did  you  never  meet  a  fellow  of  that  name 
before?"  [This  was  a  bit  of  bravado  evidently 
aimed  toward  me,  for  I  was  listening  intently  to 
the  colloquy.  I  shifted  my  seat,  but  kept  within 
earshot  of  what  followed.] 

Said  the  landlord:  "You  gave  yourself  away  a 
minute  ago.  Now  don't  try  and  bluff,  and  don't 
be  scared  about  me.  I  know  some  things  that 
might  astonish  people.  Don't  you  know  what 
became  of  Ellen  Elroy  ? " 

"I  heard  that  she  had  gone  to  the  devil,"  said 
Howson,  ' '  and  I  suppose  that' s  the  case.  I  know 
/have,  and  if  you  mean  to  give  me  up,  why— 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  said  the  landlord,  "I  mean 
to  give  you  a  bed.  I  suppose  you  led  her  to  the 
devil,  as  you  say,  but  she  never  got  quite  there. 
She  found  her  way  home  in  the  long  run." 

The  tramp  began  to  look  more  nervous  than 
ever. 


Romance  of  a  Tramp.  31 

"Do  you  mean  that  she  went  back  to  her 
father's  house  ?  "  he  said,  anxiously. 

"  Well,  she  got  there  finally,  I  believe,  but  be- 
fore that,  she  was  picked  up  in  Chicago  as  a  com- 
mon vagrant  and  sent  to  the  Bridewell.  Some- 
body, I  won't  say  who,  got  her  out,  and  she  went 
home  East,  and  one  day  she  was  found  dead,  not 
far  from  the  old  man's  house." 

This  intelligence  appeared  to  relieve  the  mind 
of  Howson,  and  he  was  visibly  anxious  to  escape 
further  investigation  by  accepting  the  offer  of 
shelter.  He  was  put  into  a  vacant  room,  where 
he  crept  into  a  "shake-down"  in  the  corner,  drew 
a  quilt  over  his  head,  and  to  all  appearance  fell 
asleep. 

We  did  not  retire  to  rest  that  night,  for  the 
landlord  was  considerably  wrought  up  over  the 
meeting,  and,  as  may  be  imagined,  I  was  all  agog 
to  pluck  out  the  heart  of  the  mystery. 

"What  a  strange  chance  it  was  that  brought 
that  man  here,"  said  he  ;  "it  is  just  fifteen  years 
-ago  this  very  month  that  Dr.  Howson  disappeared 
from  his  home,  and  he  has  never  been  seen  or 
heard  of  since." 

"Who  is  he,  and  who  was  Ellen  Elroy,  and 
what  did  he  run  away  for,  and  why  did  she  jump 


32  Suppressed  Sensations. 

into  the  Chicago  Bridewell,"  said  I ;  "Come,  old 
man,  this  will  be  a  good  sensation." 

"That's  all  you  fellows  think  of,"  returned  he, 
' ' — a  good  sensation  !  yes,  a  mighty  curious  one 
this,  if  you  knew  it  all.  But  I  have  good  reasons 
for  keeping  this  thing  out  of  sight,  as  no  good 
could  ever  come  now  of  its  publication,  and  may- 
be lots  of  trouble.  Besides  I  couldn'  t  identify 
him,  and  if  I  could  —  Tell  you  what  I  will  do," 
he  said,  after  a  reflective  pause,  "I  will  tell  you 
all  about  it,  but  only  on  condition  that  you  give 
me  your  word  of  honor  not  to  write  it  up  for  the 
papers.  I  have  my  reasons." 

I  reluctantly  gave  him  my  pledge,  and  he  forth- 
with put  me  in  possession  of  a  family  history  which 
offers  a  striking  illustration  of  the  old  adage  that 
truth  is  stranger  than  fiction.  The  narrative  ran 
somewhat  as  follows  :— 

Not  very  long  ago  a  woman  was  arrested  in 
Chicago  near  Polk  Street  bridge.  She  was  evi- 
dently a  stranger  in  the  city,  and  it  was  remarked 
that  while  her  clothes  denoted  a  condition  of  ab- 
ject poverty,  the  face  was  one  of  singular  beauty, 
and  wore  an  expression  such  as  belongs  only  to- 
well  bred  people.  On  being  taken  to  the  police 
she  was  denounced  as  an  old  bummer,  and  ten- 


Romance  of  a  Tramp.  83 

tenced  as  such  to  the  usual  term  in  the  Bridewell. 
She  gave  her  name  to  the  magistrate  as  Alice 
Enright,  but  on  searching  her,  as  is  customary, 
the  policeman  found  a  small  faded  pocket  book 
containing  a  card,  one  pld  photograph,  and  a  few 
apparently  unimportant  memoranda.  These  were 
exhibited  to  the  privileged  professional  gentle- 
men at  the  station,  and  that  seemed  to  be  the  end 
of  it. 

To  only  one  man  in  the  city  did  these  scraps 
convey  any  significance,  and  he,  for  reasons  best 
known  to  himself,  chose  to  give  his  surmises  no 
publicity.  This  man  was  none  other  than  my 
landlord,  then  a  clerk  in  one  of  our  hotels. 

"  I  learned  the  whole  truth  afterward,"  said  he, 
4i  and  found  that  my  suspicions  had  been  correct!" 

This  woman  was  the  daughter  of  a  wealthy 
gentleman  of  New  Hampshire,  whose  family  are 
still  living  there.  His  name  was  Elroy,  He  was 
:a  haughty,  imperious  man,  proud  of  his  wealth, 
and  still  prouder  of  his  lineage,  which  he  drew 
from  one  of  the  aristocratic  names  of  the  mother 
country.  His  only  child,  a  daughter,  was  the 
joy  and  pride  of  his  heart.  Upon  her  he  lavished 
all  the  aifection  in  his  nature,  and  all  that  wealth 
could  do  was  devoted  to  her  mental  and  physical 


34  Suppressed  Sensations. 

nurture.  And  a  bright  and  beautiful  girl  she 
grew  up  to  be,  excelling  in  all  the  accomplish- 
ments that  conduce  to  make  a  charming  woman. 

The  time  .came  when  Ellen  was  of  marriageable 
age,  and  this  was  an  event  to  which  the  father 
had  long  looked  forward  with  eager  expectancy, 
for  he  had  set  his  heart  on  wedding  her  to  a  young 
nephew  who  bore  the  family  name,  so  that 
the  possessions  might  descend  in  an  unbroken 
line  to  his  posterity. 

The  nephew  was  a  young  man  of  negative 
qualities  as  to  mind,  but  irreproachable  in  hi& 
conduct,  and  devotedly  attached  to  his  beautiful 
cousin.  Ellen,  on  the  other  hand,  regarded  her 
fiancee  with  only  a  mild  respect,  and  she  was  de- 
cidedly averse  to  marrying  him.  She  rather  pre- 
ferred the  companionship  of. a  young  medical 
student,  between  whom  and  herself  there  existed,, 
it  was  whispered,  a  feeling  warmfer  than  esteem. 
In  fact,  the  gossips  remarked  that  the  flirtation 
between  young  Howson  and  Ellen  was  getting  to 
a  point  where  it  was  time  to  put  a  stop  to  it. 

By  and  bye  matters  came  to  a  crisis.  The 
daughter  was  offered  th6  alternative  of  marrying 
her  cousin,  or  of  being  disinherited,  and  fhe  girl, 
knowing  the  unrelenting  temper  of  her  parent 


Romance  of  a  Tramp.  35 


when  his  will  was  thwarted,  after  a  struggle  to 
have  her  own  way,  succumbed. 

The  marriage  took  place;  the  happy  couple 
went  through  their  honey-moon,  like  any  other 
happy  couple ;  and  so/  the  romance  was  at  an 
end,  for  the  time  being. 

But  only  for  a  time.  In  these  days  the  real 
romance  too  often  only  begins  at  the  tying  of  the 
nuptial  knot ;  and  so  it  was  with  our  wedded  pair. 
To  all  appearance  they  were  what  the  world 
would  call  a  perfectly  well  mated  couple — she 
gracing  her  position  with  becoming  dignity,  and 
he  devoting  himself  to  her  with  an  affectionate 
solicitude  that  could  not  but  win  her  respect. 

But  there  was  k'a  little  rift  within  the  lute," 
and  there  came  a  shadow  on  the  horizon  of  their 
wedded  life,  "no  bigger  than  a  man's  hand," 
which  was  soon  to  envelope  them  in  the  dark 
s  orm  of  fate. 

Aboui  a  year  after  an  heir  to  the  house  of  Elroy 
came  into  the  world,  there  arrived  again  in  the 
neighborhood  the  young  physician  who  has 
already  been  introduced  into  this  narrative. 
Being  of  respectable  connections  he  very  soon 
got  into*  a  good  practice,  and  there  seemed  to  be 
no  reason  why  he  should  not  resume  his  acquaint- 


36  Suppressed  Sensations. 

ance  with  the  friends  of  his  youth.  In  fact,  he 
became  a  frequent  visitor  to  their  home,  and  was 
welcomed  both  by  the  husband  and  wife  as  an 
old  friend.  Nor  did  there  arise  in  the  minds  of 
the  family  a  suspicion  of  any  undue  intimacy 
between  the  young  wife  and  her  former  lover ; 
and  indeed,  their  conduct  was  at  no  time  such  as 
to  warrant  such  an  inference.  On  the  contrary, 
the  husband  and  the  doctor  became  fast  friends, 
so  that  when  one  day  the  former  was  seized  witli 
a  serious  illness,  the  latter  was  sent  for  to  attend 
him.  The  illness  assumed  an  alarming  phase, 
and  after  lingering  in  sore  agony  for  many  days 
the  husband  died. 

He  died,  and  the  event  made  the  customary 
stir  and  tumult  among  the  relatives  until  he  was 
quietly  interred ;  and  the  widow  put  on  her 
weeds,  and  received  with  quiet  resignation  the 
condolences  of  her  friends ;  and  the  family 
physician  handed  in  his  certificate,  and  attended 
the  funeral. 

It  was  now  that  the  conduct  of  the  physician 
began  to  arouse  the  curiosity  of  some  of  the 
relatives,  and  people  who  have  a  happy  knack 
of  "putting  this  and  that  together"  were  not 
slow  in  hinting  that  there  was  something  wrong 


38  Suppressed  Sensations. 

somewhere.  These  murmurs  grew  more  ominous 
as  the  days  went  on,  and  eventually  it  was  sug- 
gested by  a  friend  of  the  family,  who  said  he 
knew  of  something,  that  the  body  fthould  be 
exhumed,  and  an  examination  made.  The  "some- 
thing" hinted  at  was  the  discovery  in  the  bed- 
room of  the  dead  man,  of  certain  preparations  of 
arsenic.  There  had  been  nothing  in  the  disease 
to  warrant  the  administration  of  this  drug,  and 
now  it  was  remembered  that  the  symptoms  were 
those  which  might  be  produced  by  arsenic. 

When  Howson  was  informed  of  the  intention 
to  exhume  the  remains  he  turned  deadly  pale, 
but  controlling  himself  with  an  effort  he  sought 
to  pooh-pooh  the  matter,  until  seeing  there  was 
a  fixed  determination  to  have  a  resurrection  of 
the  body,  he  professed  his  acquiescence  and 
intimated  his  entire  willingness  to  assist  at  the 
autopsy. 

But  on  the  day  when  the  remains  of  young 
Elroy  were  to  be  exhumed  and  submitted  to  an 
examination  of  experts,  Dr.  Howson  was  nowhere 
to  be  found.  He  had  disappeared,  and  it  turned 
out  that  his  disappearance  had  been  discovered 
early  on  the  evening  preceding  the  day  of  the 
exhumation. 


Romance  of  a  Tramp.  39- 


The  post  mortem  revealed  quite  clearly  the  fact 
that  Elroy  had  been  poisoned,  and  it  only  re- 
mained to  find  the  murderer.  The  missing 
physican  vas  at  once  poin/ed  out  as  the  culprit, 
and  as  a  natural  consequence  tongues  began  to- 
be  busy  in  defaming  the  unhappy  widow.  Hi& 
intimacy  with  the  family  and  his  former  relations 
with  Mrs.  Elroy  were  accepted  as  proof  strong  as 
holy  writ  that  there  were  a  pair  of  guilty  ones  in 
the  dark  transaction.  And  although  none  had 
dared  to  point  the  finger  of  suspicion  at  her,, 
there  were  not  wanting  those  who  circulated 
bits  of  insidious  gossip  which  slowly  sapped  her 
fair  fame,  and  began  to  make  life  a  weariness 
to  her. 

Worst  of  all,  her  father,  to  whose  wish  she  had 
sacrificed  her  first  maidenly  love,  turned  his  stem 
face  coldly  upon  her.  She  had  nothing  now  left 
to  her  but  her  boy. 

One  evening,  immediately  succeeding  the  occur- 
rences just  narrated,  the  child  was  about  to  repeat 
his  "Now  I  lay  me,"  when,  looking  up  into  his 
mother's  face,  he  lisped  out  these  words,  terrible 
to  a  mother's  heart :  "Mamma,  my  gra'pa  says  I 
must  only  say  Go'  bless  papa  now." 

The  horrible  truth  flashed  on  her  mind  that  her 


40  Suppressed  Sensations. 

father  suspected  her  of  complicity  in  the  murder 
of  her  husband. 

The  next  day  a  new  theme  was  furnished  the 
gossips  of  the  district  by  the  sudden  disappear- 
ance of  Mrs.  Elroy,  who  had  of  course  gone  off 

to  join  her  paramour  and  the  partner  of  her  guilt. 

***** 

Had  she  gone  to  him  ?  Ah,  murder,  they  say, 
will  out,  but  who  shall  say  on  what  day  the 
mysteries  of  the  human  heart  are  to  be  unveiled  ! 
Perhaps  not  even  at  the  judgment  seat  of  the 
Most  High. 

At  the  close  of  this  sad  history  we  may  be 
able  to  catch  a  fleeting  glimpse  of  the  truth. 

Let  the  reader  here  imagine  for  himself  where 
that  doubly,  trebly  forsaken  woman  went.  There 
would  be  many  and  various  surmises.  Did  she 
sneak  away  from  her  home  and  her  child  to  unite 
her  fortunes  with  a  murderer  and  a  seducer  ?  Did 
she  burst  away  from  her  home  in  wrath  and 
agony,  seeing  nothing  in  the  garden  that  she 
loved  but  the  angel  with  the  flaming  sword,  for- 
bidding her  to  re-enter  the  hallowed  doors  ?  Or, 
did  she  wander  forth,  like  Hagar  in  the  desert, 
only  without  the  solace  of  a  Hagar — her  only 
boy — despair  in  her  soul,  and  seeking  after  a  just 


Romance  of  a  Tramp.  41 


retribution,  which  God  only  knew  was  her  recom- 
pense ! 

All  that  was  known  was  that  Ellen  Elroy  was 
gone  from  her  home,  and  o^ly  a  few,  a  very  few 
kindly  souls  had  the  courage  to  say  that  per- 
haps after  all  she  was  more  sinned  against  than 

sinning. 

-x-  *  #  *  '  # 

During  the  Colvin  Administration  one  afternoon 
a  shabbily  dressed  woman,  who  had  all  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  lady,  came  into  the  Mayor's  office, 
and  made  a  piteous  appeal  to  his  Honor.  She 
said  her  father  was  dying  and  she  must  go  to  him 
before  he  died. 

"Where  does  your  father  live?"  said  the 
Mayor. 

"In  New  Hampshire,"  said  the  woman;  "it's 
far  away,  but  there's  much  depends  on  this — more 
than  I  can  tell  you,  and  I  haven' t  a  penny  nor  a- 
friend  in  the  world.  Can' t  you  help  me  on  ? " 

The  good-hearted  Mayor  perceived  a  "some- 
thing above  the  common  ' '  in  his  petitioner,  and 
with  his  accustomed  generosily,  he,  after  suitable 
inquiry,  helped  her  along  to  her  destination.  This 
circumstance  was  reported,  with  sundry  other 
items  of  municipal  gossip,  at  the  moment,  and 


42  Suppressed  Sensations. 


passed  to  where  all  good  items  go,  without  com- 
ment. 

[The  narrator  desires  to  say  here  that  the  above 
circumstance  has  been  inserted  in  this  place  after 
a  careful  comparison  of  some  old  notes  of  events 
with  my  landlord's  narration.  It  is  important  as 
a,  link  in  the  chain.] 

Just  at  this  time,  in  his  palatial  residence  in 
New  Hampshire,  an  old  man  was  lying  in  the 
daily  expectation  of  death.  His  worldly  affairs 
had  all  been  arranged,  and  he  was  looking  for- 
ward to  other  prospects  in  the  kingdom  to  come. 
One  evening  he  was  told  that  a  poor  woman— 
a  tramp— had- been  driven  away  from  his  door — a 
bad  looking,  miserable  looking  creature. 

"Take  her  into  the  kitchen,1'  said  the  dying 
man,  "if  she  comes  back  again,  and  give  her 
something  to  eat." 

The  next  night  she  came  again,  and  they  gave 
her  to  eat  and  drink.  She  was  a  forlorn,  haggard, 
almost  forbidding  object,  with  hollow,  bloodshot 
eyes  and  hunger- bitten  cheeks. 

She  said  to  the  servant :  "  My  father  is  dying, 
and  I  want  to  see  him." 

The  servant  went  up  to  the  dying  man  and  told 
him  the  woman  down  there  was  mad. 


Romance  of  a  Tramp.  43 

They  sent  her  away. 

The  day  after  she  came  back  to  the  house.  She 
said  to  the  housekeeper,  "Tell  Mr.  Elroy  that  I  am 
his  daughter  Ellen,  and  that  I  must  see  him 
before  he  dies." 

"His  daughter,"  said  the  housekeeper,  "has 
been  dead  many  years.  You  must  get  away 
from  here,  my  poor  woman." 

Does  my  father  know  that  his  daughter  is 
dead  ? 

"  He  has  known  that  long  ago, — but  go  away 
from  here,  or  you' 11  disturb  him,  and  he's  dying." 

"My  God  !  it's  because  he's  dying  that  I  must 
see  him,  and  that  at  once.  Let  me  go  to  him, 
and  he  will  know  me." 

The  impassioned  creature  broke  past  the  ancient 
servitor  and  r-ushed  up  the  long  flight  of  stairs 
till  she  reached  the  bedside  of  the  dying  man.  A 
physician  and  other  attendants  there  tried  to  in- 
tercept her,  but  she  reached  the  bed,  and  kneeling 
down  cried  out : 

"Father,  I  am  Ellen,  don't  yon  know  me  ?" 

Ragged,  wayworn,  defaced  by  misery,  sorrow, 
want,  a-nd  wrong — it  was  perhaps  no  wonder  that 
the  dying  man  shook  his  head  and  told  the  doctor 
to  take  the  poor  mad  creature  away. 


*e*§ 


.T^' 


•31 


-/A 


again  thrust  from 


the  doors  and  driven  into 
the  dark,  bitter  midnight. 
The  next  morning 
the  dead  body  of  a 
>  woman  was  found  in 
a  small  pond  adjoin- 
ing the  grounds  of  the 
house.  It  was  that  of 
poor  mad  creature  who 
had  been  twice  thrust  away 
from  her  father's  door. 


Romance  of  a  Tramp.  45 

The  peace  of  God  was  in  her  looks.  Death, 
the  great  leveler,  the  great  beautifier,  had  recog- 
nized the  wanderer,  and  With  his  merciful  hand 
had  effaced  all  traces  of  her  earthly  sufferings. 
The  poor  rags  still  clung  about  her  wasted  form, 
but  her  face  wore  the  smile  her  mother  would 
have  known.  The  weary  soul  was  at  rest. 

They  bore  her  to  her  old  home  and  told  the  old 
man  that  his  child  had  come.  With  his  dying 
eyes  he  looked  upon  the  face  he  had  seen  the 
night  before  but  did  not  know — that  he  saw  now 
and  recognized. 

In  death  they  were  not  divided. 

***** 

When  the  landlord  ended  his  recital  the  dawn 
was  peeping  through  the  casement,  and  I  went  to 
bed.  Before  I  fell  asleep,  however,  I  heard  a 
sound  outside  my  window,  and  peeping  cautious- 
ly out,  I  was  amazed  to  see  our  tramp  and  the 
landlord  engaged  in  a  low  but  earnest  conversa- 
tion. Howson  had  a  small  bundle  in  his  hand, 
and  after  saying  a  hurried  good-bye,  he  made  his 
way  rapidly  down  the  dusty  road  and  was  lost 
to  my  view. 

"In  the  name  of  all  that's  wonderful,"  I  said 
to  the  landlord  in  the  morning,  "what  prompted 


46  Suppressed  Sensations. 

you  to  connive  at  that  scoundrel's  escape? 
Aren't  you  sure  of  your  man  ? " 

"As  sure  as  I  am  of  my  breakfast,"  he  re- 
turned, "but  I  have  another  secret  to  tell  you, 
since  I  have  trusted  you  so  far.  I  would  not;  tell 
you  that  if  you  had  not  seen  me  let  him  go." 

"  What  is  that  ? "  I  asked,  in  wonder. 

"  That  man  you  saw  go  from  my  house  this 
morning — you  will  keep  this  to  yourself?" 

"Surely." 

"He  is  my  wife's  only  brother." 

"One  thing  more — was  Ellen  Elroy  guilty?" 

"  I  would  give  the  world  to  know,"  said  the 
landlord,  "but  he  would  not  tell,  and  now  we 
may  never  know  that  mystery." 

4t  *  *  *  * 

Last  winter  a  wretched  vagrant  was  found  half 
dead  from  hunger  and  cold  on  the  streets  of 
Chicago,  and  was  carried  to  the  County  Hospital. 
He  absolutely  refused  to  give  his  name,  or  tell 
where  he  came  from,  so  he  was  entered  as  plain 
John  Smith.  He  was  dying. 

About  two  hours  before  the  end  came,  he  called 
the  nurse  to  his  bedside,  and,  fumbling  in  his 
breast  for  something,  drew  forth  a  tattered  and 
greasy  pocket  book. 


Romance  of  a  Tramp.  47 


"There  is  nothing  in  it  that's  of  any  impor- 
tance to  anyone  here,"  he  gasped.  "There  is 
but  one  man  living  that  it  G^ould  have  any  mean- 
ing for."  He  added,  breathing  hard  as  he  neared 
the  grim  portal,  "if  you  have  any  pity  for  a  poor 
dying  man,  will  you  send  this  to  the  landlord  of 
the  hotel  at  C 2" 

"  I  promise  to  do  it,"  said  the  nurse. 

His  thin  wan  fingers  tightened  for  a  moment  on 
the  pocket  book,  and  then  relaxed  their  hold. 

The  tramp  had  entered  upon  the  beaten  road 

we  must  all  travel.     He  was  dead  ! 

***** 

The  pocket  book  contained  nothing  but  an  old 
letter,  and  this  was  the  contents  : 

"  When  I  sought  you  it  was  to  kill  you.  I  meant  to  do  it  and 
then  die  myself.  But  when  I  saw  you  and  found  what  you  had 
become,  I  chose  a  better  revenge.  I  thank  God  the  guilt  of 
blood  is  not  on  my  soul,  as  it  is  on  yours.  George,  I  once 
loved  you — loved  you  blindly,  madly,  and  now  I  hate  you  with 
my  whole  heart — that  heart  which  you  have  crushed.  Through 
your  horrible  act  I  have  been  driven  a  wanderer  upon  the  face 
of  the  earth.  You  have  brought  upon  me  the  scorn  and  wrath 
of  my  kindred,  and  the  darkest  suspicion  of  the  world.  You 
have  made  me  dishonor  an  honest  name,  and  bring  a  father's 
gray  hairs  perhaps  in  sorrow  to  the  grave.  But  I  would  not  kill 
you.  I  thank  my  God  that  wild  temptation  has  passed.  You 
will  never  hear  of  me  agaUttbut  mark  me,  the  curse  of  a 


48 


Suppressed  Sensations. 


wronged  woman  rests  upon  your  head.  God  is  just — the  eternal 
law  of  Him  will  be  satisfied.  I  am  your  accusing  angel,  and 
this  will  be  your  doom  :  You  will  sink  from  your  present 
fancied  prosperity  by  slow  but  sure  degrees,  until  you,  like  me, 
become  a  wretched  wanderer  on  the  earth.  Men  will  shun  you 
as  a  pestilence.  You  will  die  in  wretchedness  and  woe,  and  will 
be  buried  in  a  pauper's  grave.  Amen  !  Amen  !  I  wish  it 
from  my  soul.  These  are  the  last  words  you  will  ever  hear 
from 

ELLEN." 


LEAF    III. 


'OW  much 
,  romance, 
what  ag- 
ony and 
experi- 
ence   of 
life's  stern- 
er realities  are 
sometimes  con- 
cealed in  the  curt  and 
5  carelessly  written  par- 
agraphs   of    a    daily 
paper  !      If  we  could  read 
on   and    discover  the  mo- 
tives which  actuated,    the 
springs  which  moved,  the  human 
mind   to  do  the  deed   so  hastily 
and  briefly  recorded,  we  should  frequently  have 

(49) 


50  Suppressed  Sensations. 


the  particulars  of  a  life's  history  more  pregnant 
and  absorbing  than  are  contained  in  the  most 
sensational  fictions  of  a  Dumas,  a  Reade,  or  a 
Miss  Braddon. 

In  the  columns  of  a  morning  paper  of  May, 
1879,  the  reader  of  this  leaf  perhaps  perused  a 
paragraph  similar  to  the  following,  and  passed 
it  over  without  a  further  thought : 

"Last  evening,  about  half  past  6  o'clock,  the  corpse  of  a 
female,  young  and  elegantly  dressed,  was  discovered  washed 
ashore  at  t.hp  rear  of  the  Exposition  Building,  and  conveyed  to 
the  Morgue.  The  coroner  was  notified,  who  called  a  jury,  whose 
verdict  was,  that  the  unknown  deceased  came  by  her  death  from 
drowning,  but  whether  accidentally  or  suicidally  the  jury  had 
no  means  of  ascertaining.  There  were  no  marks  upon  the  linen, 
or  in  the  pockets  of  the  drowned  party,  likely  to  lead  to  her 
identification.  The  corpse  remains  at  the  Morgue  for  identifica- 
tion." 

That  was  all  the  papers  ever  contained  of  the 
case,  but  not -all  they  could  have  published  if 
remarkable  measures  had  not  been  taken  to 
suppress  the  facts,  which  I  shall  now  endeavor, 
very  briefly,  to  lay  before  the  reader. 

I  was  delegated  to  hunt  up  the  facts  in  the 
case,  and  proceeded  to  that  last  sad  caravansary 
for  the  floater,  the  "found  dead,"  and  the  un- 
known suicide  who  takes  the  reins  of  Omnipotence 


The  Carnival's  Victim.  5L 


in  his  own,  hands,  careless  what  becomes  of  his 
remains. 

On  a  rude  tressel  table  'lay  the  body  of  the 
drowned  woman,  while  on  a  line  above  hung  un- 
derwear of  fine  linen  profusely  ornamented  with 
Torchon  lace,  skirts  heavily  embroidered,  stock- 
ings of  silver  gray  with  a  delicate  carmine  thread 
of  silk  forming  foliage  upon  the  instep,  black 
satin  corsets,  a  handsome  walking  suit  of  bro- 
cade and  velvet,  while  upon  the  coarse  planks 
upon  which  she  lay  were  a  pair  of  Spanish  arch 
boots  and  a  hat,  which  had,  until  its  freshness 
was  destroyed  by  the  waters  of  the  lake,  been 
jaunty  with  its  broad  buckle  and  long  feather. 

A  long  white  sheet  concealed  the  body,  making 
that  unmistakable  line  of  curves  and  angles 
which  tells,  plainer  than  any  words,  the  sad  secret 
of  mortality  which  it  rpveals  rather  than  hides. 
A  wealth  of  light  brown  hair  shot  with  gold 
hung  orer  the  end  of  the  table  dank  and  heavy, 
yet,  in  its  broad  bands  of  light  and  shade  showing 
how  carefully  it  had  been  cared  for. 

Removing  the  covering  from  the  poor,  dead 
face,  I  looked  upon  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
creatures  it  had  ever  been  my  lot  to  see.  Death 
could  not,  in  so  short  a  time,  and  with  such  rude 

UNIVERSITY  OF 
LIBRARY 

o,  OF  iLL.  JB. 


52  Suppressed  Sensations. 

notice,  mar  its  gorgeous  lineaments.  White  as 
chiseled  marble,  with  the  roseate  lips  slightly 
parted  and  revealing  even  rows  of  pearly  teeth  ; 
delicately  penciled  eyebrows  and  long  black 
lashes  lying  heavily  upon  the  cheek,  she  lay  as 
though  calmly  sleeping. 

The  corpse  had  not  been  long  enough  in  the 
water  to  become  discolored  or  disfigured,  and 
the  supple  form  and  rounded  limbs  were  models 
for  a  sculptor. 

I  started  back  in  horror,  for  I  knew  her  at  a 
glance.  It  was  the  worshiped  beauty  who  on 
the  principal  night  of  the  Author's  Carnival  had 
impersonated  the ! 

What  her  name  was,  from  whence  she  came,  or 
why  she  had  thus  invited  death,  I  did  not  know, 
but  of  one  thing  I  was  certain — that  it  was  the 
same  splendid  creature  who  with  merely  a  diaph- 
anous scarf  and  white  silk  fleshings  had  stood 
upon  the  pedestal  on  the  immense  stage  of  the 
Carnival  to  be  seen  and  admired  by  thousands. 
Then,  that  rounded  form  was  instinct  with  life ; 
now,  it  was  awaiting  its  decay.  Then,  the  ex- 
tended arm  and  taper  hand  trembled  with  ex- 
citement beneath  the  dove  that  perched  upon 
the  outstretched  finger ;  now,  they  were  pressed 


The  Carnival's  Victim. 


close  to  the  clay-cold  figure,  never  to  be  lifted 
again. 

I  concealed  from  the  keeper'of  the  Morgue  the 
secret  I  felt  sure  I  possessed,  and  determined  at 
the  same  time  to  discover  to  which  of  our  wealthy 
families  she  belonged,  and  the  reasons  which 
impelled  her  to  take  her  life  and  future  in  her 
own  hands. 

Telling  the  man  that  I  would  look  in  again,  I 
left  the  place.  My  brain  was  in  a  whirl  of  ex- 
citement. A  thousand  schemes  for  the  elucida- 
tion of  the  mystery  flashed  through  my  mind. 
Nothing,  however,  could  be  done  that  night,  and 
I  went  about  my  "assignments  in  the  most 
mechanical  way  and  without  the  slightest  interest 
in  the  petty  cases  of  drunk  and  disorderly  and 
other  items  of  ordinary  police  court  intelligence. 

When  my  final  copy  was  in,  I  left  the  office, 
and  dropping  into  the  usual  midnight  lunch  place 
ori  Clark  street,  I  took  a  single  glass  of  beer  and 
a  sandwich,  and  then  repaired  to  my  bachelor 
room  ;  but  not  to  sleep.  Plan  after  plan  throbbed 
through  my  brain,  but  none  seemed  feasible.  If 
for  a  few  moments  I  dropped  into  semi-uncon- 
sciousness, the  cold,  white  face  of  the  corpse  ap- 
peared close  to  mine,  and  once,  when  positively 


54  Suppressed  Sensations. 

asleep,  I  awoke  with  a  start  as  I  saw  the  rigid 
form  in  all  its  horrible  nudity  arise  from  its  tressel 
table  and  assume  the  precise  attitude  of  the 
tableau  at  the  Exposition. 

I  could  bear  it  no  longer.  I  jumped  from  my 
couch,  and  putting  on  my  clothes,  lighted  my 
meerschaum  and  tried  to  read  "  U  Assommoir." 
The  quiet  sleeper  at  the  Morgue  became  mingled 
with  the  quarreling  women  in  the  lavatory.  The 
demon  would  not  down,  and  it  was  a  relief  when 
the  rising  sun,  peering  in  at  the  window,  pro- 
claimed it  day. 

Making  a  hasty  toilet,  and  taking  a  still  hastier 
breakfast  at  a  restaurant,  I  again  bent  my  steps 
to  the  Morgue. 

What  was  my  astonishment  to  find  that  the 
oorpse  had  been  taken  away  in  the  night,  and  the 
keeper  was  peculiarly  reticent  as  to  what  disposal 
had  been  made  of  it.  Neither  bribes,  flatteries 
nor  threats  would  loosen  his  tongue,  but  a  friendly 
policeman,  who  knew  me  as  a  reporter,  and  whose 
beat  took  him  by  the  building,  informed  me  that 
a  close  carriage  driven  by  a  man  in  quiet  livery," 
bottle-green,  as  near  as  he  could  judge  in  /he 
•  lamplight,  had  stopped  at  the  Morgue  about  one 
o'clock.  An  elderly  gentleman  with  a  long  white 


The  Carnival's  Victim.  55 

beard  and  close-cropped  hair  had  descended  and 
entered  the  place.  Returning  after  a  consider- 
able period,  he  had  spoken  some  words  in  a  low 
tone  to  the  coachman,  who  had  driven  rapidly 
away.  About  an  hour  afterwards  a  hearse  had 
drawn  up,  without  plumes  or  ornament  of  any 
kind.  A  plain  burial  case  had  been  carried  into 
the  Morgue  by  two  men,  who  immediately  re- 
turned, assisted  by  the  keeper  of  the  institution. 
The  coffin,  evidently  heavier,  was  replaced  in  the 
hearse,  and  it  was  driven  away.  This  was 
absolutely  all  that  I  could  learn. 

What  was  next  to~be  done  ?  I  inquired  of  the 
policeman  the  color  of  the  team,  ascertained  one 
horse  to  be  roan,  the  other  a  lighter  gray,  the 
carriage  dark  brown  or  chocolate,  not  certain 
which,  and,  with  these  particulars  as  my  principal 
clew,  I  determined  on  discovering  all  connected 
with  this  case  of  suicide,  for  accidental  drowning 
it  could  scarcely  possibly  be. 

My  first  endeavor  was  to  ascertain,  if  the 
slightest  chance  existed,  who  the  lady  was  whose 
partially  undraped  form  at  the  Author's  Carnival 
had  caused  so  much  animadversion  and  elicited 
anything  but  complimentary  comments  from  the 
daily  press.  It  will  be  remembered  that  it  was 


The  Carnival' 's  Victim.  57 

stated  at  the  time,  that  certain  ^dies  connected 
with  the  leading  families  of  Chicago  Jad  con- 
sented to  exhibit  their  personal  charms,  with  an 
abandonment  almost  equaling  that  of  Matt  Mor- 
gan's Art  Statuary,  or  the  "Model  Artists"  of 
Mabel  Santley,  on  condition  that  their  names 
were  not  known,  but  that  public  opinion  being 
strongly  against  the  initial  exhibition,  a  greater 
-amount  of  drapery  had  been  used  in  the  later 
tableaux. 

v 

Some  people  looked  upon  the  statement  as  a 
mere  trick  of  the  manager  to  insure  larger  re- 
ceipts, he  thinking  rightly  that  men  about  town 
would  bleed  more  readily  for  the  chance  of  seeing 
in  such  deshabille  ladies  of  fashion,  than  for 
gazing  upon  the  meretricious  charms  of  profes- 
sional models  and  shameless  creatures  who  would 
for  a  few  dollars  denude  themselves  of  drapery 
just  so  far  as  the  police  would  permit,  and  only 
stop  the  process  of  undressing  by  the  edict  of  the 
authorities.  Others  declared  that  the  manager  of 
the  Carnival  had  brought  with  him  these  women 
and  that  they  posed  as  a  mere  matter  of  business, 
which  would  have  destroyed  the  zest  of  hunters 
after  prurience  who  estimate  their  excitement  by 
the  difficulties  surrounding  its  attainment. 


58  Suppressed  Sensations. 


Which  of  these  theories  was  true  I  had  no- 
means  of  judging,  but  feeling  certain  that  the 
dead  body  in  the  Morgue  was  the  living  -  —  of 
the  Carnival,  and  that  the  arrival  of  the  carriage 
and  the  carrying  away  of  the  corpse  pointed  to 
her  being  one  of  our  own  leading  citizens,  I  clung: 
to  the  former,  correctly,  as  it  will  be  seen  in  the 
sequel. 

The  manager  I  could  not  interview,  as  he  had 
received  his  twenty-five  per  cent,  of  the  proceeds 
of  the  charity  entertainment,  and  was  off  to  reap 
fresh  harvests  in  other  fields.  Even  if  he  had 
been  on  the  spot,  I  could  perhaps  have  obtained 
nothing  from  him  which  would  have  assisted  my 
search. 

I  was  acquainted  with  many  of  the  gentlemen 
and  a  few  of  the  ladies  who  had  taken  part  in 
the  Carnival,  and  I  began  assiduously  and  indus- 
triously to  question  them.  Some  evidently  knew 
nothing,  and  others  would  say  nothing,  though 
from  one  lady  who  had  been  one  of  the  choicest 
spirits  in  the  affair  from  beginning  to  end,  I 
extracted  a  semi-admission  that  the  love  of  praise, 
and  the  consciousness  of  very  fine  physical  de- 
velopment, had  induced  several  ladies  to  offer 
themselves  as  classic  statues  so  long  as  their 


The  Carnival's  Victim.  59 

. 

names  were  concealed,  and  the  whitening  process 
precluded  the  possibility  of  recognition  of  their 
facial  lines,  trusting,  I  suppose,  to  the  hope  that 
the  eagle  eye  of  love  might,  in  those  they  wished 
to  charm,  pierce  the  thin  disguise  of  a  coat  of 
artistic  calcimining. 

I  was  at  a  stand-still.  My  next  move  was  to- 
scrutinize  all  the  fashionable  equipages  I  could 
see  on  the  principal  drives  and  thoroughfares^ 
but  the  chocolate  carriage,  the  roan  and  gray, 
and  the  white  bearded  old  gentleman  with  the- 
bottle-green  coachman,  eluded  my  search,  until, 
two  weeks  afterwards,  my  heart  came  to  a  sudden 
stop  and  my  brain  actually  throbbed  with  excite- 
ment, as  I  saw,  standing  opposite  the  ladies* 
entrance  of  the  Palmer  House,  the  carriage  and 
the  horses. 

I  sauntered  slowly  by.  A  man  with  a  tall  hat 
and  small  cockade,  a  bottle-green  overcoat  almost 
down  to  his  heels,  held  open  the  door,  as  from  a 
store  next  to  the  Palmer  House  entrance  emerged 
not  an  old  man,  but  a  tall  elderly  lady,  seemingly^ 
bowed  with  the  weight  of  years,  in  deep  mourn- 
ing, and  with  a  heavy  crape  veil  reaching  to  the- 
knee  and  effectually  concealing  her  features,, 
crossed  the  sidewalk  and  entered  the  vehicle. 


<>0  Suppressed  Sensations. 

The  coachman  mounted  the  box,  drove  slowly 
into  State  street  and  turning  north,  followed  by 
myself,  stopped  at  a  bookstore,  where  with  half 
a  dozen  splendidly  bound  books,  not  made  into 
-a  parcel,  stood  waiting  an  elderly  gentleman 
with  a  long  wJiite  beard  and  close-cropped  Jiair. 
Eureka  !  I  almost  shouted  to  myself,  as  I  saw  him 
hand  in  the  books  and  then  get  into  the  carriage  ! 

Of  course  I  set  the  couple  down  at  once  as  the 
father  and  mother  of  the  victim.  But  it  is  not 
well  to  hurry  to  conclusions,  since  in  the  course 
of  this  narrative  the  reader  will  find  that  I  was 
mistaken. 

What  was  I  to  do?  was  the  next  question. 
Here  was  a  carriage  with  a  span  of  fast  horses. 
That  was  evident  from  the  blood  they  showed. 
I  was  on  foot,  and  no  carriage  nearer  than  Mon- 
roe street.  Luckily  at  this  moment  one  of 
Tilden's  men  whom  I  knew  came  along  with  an 
empty  vehicle.  I  hailed  him  and  he  drove  to  the 
curb-stone.  I  asked  him  if  he  knew  whose  team 
it  was  standing  by  the  door.  He  replied  in  the 
negative. 

"Then  wait  till  it  goes  away,  and  follow  it 
at  such  a  distance  as  to  escape  observation 
without  losing  sight  of  the  direction  it  takes,'* 


The  Carnival's  Victim.  61 

said  I,  and  springing  in  I  drew  up  the  blinds  and 
lighted  a  cigar,  certain  that  I  had  at  last  attained 
my  object. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  carriage  turned  south  and 
went  up  State  street  and  I  followed.  At  Twenty- 
second  street  we  turned  to  the  east  and  then 
south,  and  after  going  for  a  good  half  mile,  the 
carriage  stopped  at  a  palatial  residence  on  one  of 
the  most  fashionable  ayenues. 

The  lady  and  gentleman  alighted  and  a  male 
help  out  of  livery  opened  the  door,  descended 
the  steps  and  taking  the  books  and  parcels  from 
the  carriage,  followed  his  master  and  mistress 
into  the  house,  the  coach  driving  up  the  alley  to 
the  mews  in  the  rear  of  the  building. 

I  had  bagged  the  game,  and  my  next  proceed- 
ing was  to  go  and  take  a  drink  at  a  handsome 
sample  room  on  the  corner  of  an  adjacent  cross- 
street. 

"  Who  lives  at  such  a  number  ? "  I  asked  of  the 
bar-keeper,  pointing  to  the  residence  as  I  spoke. 

He  gave  me  the  name  without  hesitation. 

"  What  family  have  they  ?"  I  inquired. 

"None,"  he  replied. 

"  What !  no  daughter  ? "  I  asked. 

"No,"  said  he,   "but  they  had  a  very  beauti- 


62  Suppressed  Sensations. 

ful  young  lady  staying  with  them  during  the 
Carnival,  who  left  as  soon  as  it  was  over,  and  the 
blinds  have  been  down  and  the  house  has  looked 
as  dull  as  the  devil  ever  since." 

"  Do  you/know  where  she  was  from  ? "  I  asked, 
in  the  most  off-hand  way. 

"Well,  so  far  as  I  know,"  the  bar- tender 
replied,  "their  coachman  told  me  that  she  was 
from  Buffalo,  K  Y." 

Paying  for  my  drink  and  the  driver's  cigar,  I 
left  the  bar-room,  and  dismissing  my  carriage  at 
Wabash  avenue  I  took  a  street  car  and  hurried 
to  the  office.  I  dropped  into  the  editorial  room 
and  hunted  up  the  Buffalo  dailies.  A  short 
search  discovered  what  I  wanted,  or  at  least 
I  thought  so.  In  the  obituary  column  of  the 
leading  daily  I  found  a  notice  of  the  death  of 

Miss  Blanche ,  age  nineteen,  suddenly,  in 

Chicago,  May  — ,  1879.  I  waited  impatiently  for 
the  two  or  three  next  issues  of  the  paper,  and 
sure  enough  there  was  a  detailed  description  of 
the  arrival  of  the  body  and  its  interment,  so 
strictly  according  in  date  and  detail  as  to  leave 
no  doubt  at  all  on  my  mind  that  she  it  was  whose 
corpse  I  had  seen  in  the  Morgue. 

But  this  was  only  half  the  mystery.     How  was 


The  Carnival's  Victim.  63 


she  drowned?  Why  did  she  commit  suicide? 

Was  it  really  felo  de  se  or ?  I  could  carry 

self-questioning  no  further.  But  now  the  strang- 
est part  of  this  true  suppressed  sensation  comes 
—so  wonderful,  so  extravagantly  outre,  that  it  is 
indeed  "  too  strange  not  to  be  true/'  If  ever  fact 
was  stranger  than  fiction,  and  if  ever  the  iniqui- 
ties of  a  large  city  were  so  thoroughly  brought 
to  light  as  to  be  a*  warning  for  all  time,  it  was  in 
the  denouement  of  this  history.  Why  Fate 
should  have  made  me,  a  penniless  Bohemian 
reporter  for  a  daily  paper,  the  means  of  its  dis- 
covery, is  more  than  I  can  tell,  but  that  so  it  was, 
the  reader  will  see. 

I  had  not  been  at  the  office  more  than  half  an 
hour  when  I  was  told  by  the  city  editor  that  a 
•dying  gambler  who  had  been  shot  by  a  compan- 
ion over  a  little  game  of  faro,  wished  to  see  me 
in  a  room  over  a  tiger-bucking  den  on  Clark 
street.  The  reader  will  remember  the  newspaper 
account  of  the  shooting  published  at  the  time, 
and  the  name  of  the  man  is  familiar  to  all  the 
sporting  fraternity. 

I  shouldered  my  note  book  and  departed  for 
the  place,  vexed  at  the  thought  that  my  search 
after  the  Morgue  mystery  should  be  thus  delayed, 


64  Suppressed  Sensations. 

and  not  for  a  moment  supposing  that  I  was  going 
post  haste  towards  its  denouement. 

Does  the  outside  world  know  how  professional 
gamblers  in  Chicago  live?  None  of  that  feverish 
struggle  after  a  resting  place,  that  utter  disregard 
of  every  convenience  beyond  the  board  of  green 
cloth,  that  carelessness  of  everything  except  the 
excitement  of  the  gaming  table  which  we  read 
of  in  the  novels  of  the  day,  distinguishes  their 
career.  A  prince  of  the  blood  could  not  have 
occupied  a  more  luxurious  apartment  than  the 
one  in  which  I  found  the  wounded  card  sharper, 
lying  on  an  elegant  couch,  covered  with  a  spread 
of  pink  satin  and  propped  up  by  immaculate 
pillows  bordered  with  lace.  His  face  was  of  a 
greenish  pale  hue,  arid  from  the  pinched-in  nose, 
and  sunken  eye,  it  was  plain  to  see  that  his  end 
was  drawing  near. 

He  recognized  me  at  once,  and  languidly  rais- 
ing his  arm  pointed  to  a  chair.  I  drew  it  to  his 
bedside,  and  sitting  down  took  his  hand  in  mine. 
1  had  once  befriended  him  when  he  was  strug- 
gling to  regain  a  foothold  in  the  paths  of  recti- 
tude and  virtue,  and  it  was  this  circumstance 
which  had  induced  him  to  send  for  me  to  receive 
his  dying  words. 


The  Carnival's  Victim.  65 


He,  by  a  sign,  dismissed  the  colored  man  who 
was  attending  upon  him,  and  then  said:  "Put 
jour  hand  beneath  the  pillow  and  you  will 
find " 

"A  packet  of  letters,"  I  replied,  as  I  drew  forth 
a  small  bundle,  tied  round  with  a  pale  blue 
ribbon. 

"I  could  not  die  in  peace  until  I  had  confessed 
to  some  one,''  he  commenced,  "and  in  all  this 
great  city  I  know  of  no  one  in  whom  I  can  place 
any  confidence  but  you." 

"Well,  Jack,"  I  interrupted,  "you  are  safe 
in  my  hands  ;  but  how  came  you  in  this  predica- 
ment?" 

"Of  that  anon,"  said  he;  "but  first  let  me 
ask  if  you  have  heard  anything  of  a  young 
woman's  body  which  was  found  - 

"In  the  lake,"  I  interrupted,  "and  conveyed 
to  the  Morgue  ;  a  golden-haired,  fair,  black-eyed 


"Enough,  enough,  I  see  her  now.  She  is 
here;  she  is  there;  she  is  everywhere.  She  has 
not  been  absent  from  my  sight  for  a  moment 
since  she  was  picked  out  of  the  lake,"  he  replied, 
wildly.  "She  is  standing  by  your  side  now, 
looking  sadly  down  upon  her  murderer." 


66  Suppressed  Sensations. 

I  recoiled  in  horror,  saying,  "Yon  don't  mean 
to  say,  Jack,  that  you  - 

"  Oh  no,  I  did  not  actually  throw  her  into  the 
lake,"  he  replied.  "Better  a  thousand  times 
that  I  had  done .  so ;  but  it  was  my  damnable 
conduct  which  ruined  her,  which  drove  her  to 
despair,  which  compelled  her  to  seek  rest  in  the 
cold,  cruel  waters  of  Lake  Michigan." 

How  inscrutable  are  the  workings  of  myste- 
rious Fate !  Here,  where  I  least  expected  it,  I 
was  to  obtain  the  information  I  had  been  so 
diligently  but  uselessly  seeking. 

"  Go  on,  Jack,  go  on,"  I  hurriedly  exclaimed. 

"Let  me  tell  my  story  my  own  way,"  he 
replied,  "and  that  while  my  strength  remains, 
for  the  doctor  tells  me  I  have  not  twenty-four 
hours  to  live." 

"  Let  us  hope  he  is  mistaken,  and  now  I  will 
interrupt  you  no  more." 

"  I  do  not  want  to  live  longer  than  it  will  take 
to  post  you  on  the  items,  old  fellow,"  he  rejoined, 
a  sad  and  sickly  smile  stealing  over  his  atten- 
uated cheeks.  "Now  to  my  story.  I  and  a  pal 
had  been  down  to  Buffalo,  queering  the  greenies, 
and  had  made  a  big  haul.  We  were  both  in  high 
feather  and  well  dressed.  My  chum  went  on  to 


The  Carnival's  Victim.  67 


New  York,  I  took  the  train  for  Chicago.  On 
board  the  car,  traveling  alone,  was  the  loveliest 
creature  you  ever  set  your  eyes  upon.  I  took 
a  seat  opposite  to  hers,  and  without  obtruding 
myself  upon  her,  did  her  all  tjie  little  services  in 

my  power.     On  reaching the  train  stopped 

for  refreshments,  and  seeing  she  did  not  get  out, 
I  brought  a  cup  of  coffee  and  some  cakes  to  her 
car.  She  accepted  them  with  but  slight  demur, 
and  this  led  to  a  conversation  in  which  I  assumed 
the  character  of  a  well-known  millionaire  upon 
the  Board  of  Trade.  I  soon  found  that  I  had 
made  a  favorable  impression.  In  seemingly 
giving  her  my  confidence  I  secured  hers,  and  she 
told  me  that  she  was  going  to  spend  a  month 

with  her  uncle  on avenue,  whose  name  she 

mentioned,  and  that  she  should  remain  during 
the  Carnival. 

"Before  we  reached  the  city  I  saw  that  I  had 
made  a  conquest,  and  with  devilish  ingenuity  I 
concocted  a  specious  tale  to  account  for  my  not 
calling  upon  her  people,  and  made  arrangements 
for  meeting  her  down  town.  Insinuating  myself 
by  degrees  into  her  most  intimate  confidence,  I 
found  that  she  had  been  induced  by  some  of  her 
female  friends  who  knew  how  exquisite  was  her 


68  Suppressed  Sensations. 


form,  to  impersonate  the  -  —  at  the  approach- 
ing Carnival,  confident  that  her  incognito  would 
be  strictly  kept,  and  that  it  would  be  impossible 
for  those  who  knew  her  best  to  penetrate  the  dis- 
guise of  a  whitened  face  and  Pompadour  wig. 

"  She  was  there.  She  appeared  upon  the  stage, 
and  if  before  her  exquisite  face  had  brought  the 
blood  bounding  to  my  brain,  how  much  more  did 
her  splendid  figure.  It  maddened  me  to  think 
that  in  a  few  short  days — weeks  at  the  most— 
I  should  lose  her  for  ever.  She  would  return  to 
her  friends  where  I  dared  not  follow.  I  had 
woven  around  me  such  a  network  of  lies  and 
deceit  that  I  lived  in  hourly  apprehension  of  dis- 
covery. I  did  not  know  but  that  even  in  that 
very  building  might  be  the  man  whose  name  I 
had  assumed,  and  from  a  chance  word  which 
Blanche  had  dropped  I  knew  that  her  uncle  and 
the  great  "grain  king"  were  intimately  acquaint- 
ed. Detection  stared  me  in  the  face.  It  was 
not  that  I  feared  anything  for  myself.  You 
know  that  I  never  quailed  before  the  face  of  man. 
But  to  lose  her — the  thought  was  madness. 

"  I  resolved  to  stake  all  upon  the  cast  of  one  die. 
A  gambler  by  instinct  and  education  I  never  yet 
refused  to  play  for  big  stakes,  and  were  I  in  rude 


The  Carnival's  Victim.  69 

health  to-morrow  I  would  throw  dice  for  my  life 
as  coolly  as  if  the  bet  were  but  a  five  dollar  bill 
or  a  bottle  of  champagne.  1  resolved  to  pour 
out  my  heart  to  her — to  tell  her  my  devotion,  and 
to  assure  her  of  my  life-long  love.  That  same 
evening  we  met.  From  her  sweet  lips  I  learned 
that  she  too  loved.  Alas  !  had  she  but  kept 
back  the  confession  she  might  have  been  alive 
and  even  happy  to-day. 

"It  had  been  my  intention  to  supplement  my 
declaration  of  love  by  a  full  avowal  of  my  real 
name,  my  occupation — I  was  going  to  say  my 
character.  I  intended  to  throw  myself  upon  her 
mercy,  to  beg  of  her  for  the  love  I  bore  to  her  to 
give  me  an  opportunity  to  show  by  my  amended 
life  and  altered  ways,  my  genuine  desire  to 
make  myself  worthy  of  her.  Can  you  believe  it  ? 
Tet  I  could  have  done  it  but  for  the  frankness 
with  which  she  confessed  to  me  amid  the  blushes 
which  rendered  her  far  more  beautiful  than  ever, 
that  I  had  won  her  heart. 

"I  forgot  everything  but  that  she  was  mine,  and 
I  dared  not  then  risk  my  all  upon  a  chance.  The 
cool,  calculating  gambler  turned  coward  before 
this  woman — this  "embodiment  of  all  that  was 
good  and  pure  and  lovely. 


70 


Suppressed  Sensations. 


The  acquaintance  I  had 
begun  in  sport  had  ended  in 
bringing  me  captive  to  Cu- 
pid's yoke  for  the  first  time 
in  my  life. 

"A  wild  thought  darted  through  my  brain.  I 
would  wed  her  first,  and  then — my  confession. 
The  tie  of  love  bound  stronger  by  the  chain  of 
Hymen  she  could  not  then  give  me  up.  Woe 
is  me !  I  little  knew  her.  Born  and  reared  in 
sentiments  of  piety  and  virtu'e,  her  whole  moral 
nature  revolted  against  evil — but  I  anticipate. 

"By  prayers  and  promises,  by  specious  pleas 
and  vehement  protestations,  I  won  from  her  a. 


The  Carnival's  Victim.  71 


reluctant  consent  to  an  immediate  and  secret 
union.  Two  causes  operated  in  my  favor.  Her 
large  fortune  depended  in  a  great  measure  upon 
the  caprice  of  a  wealthy  uncle,  and  she  feared 
that  did  he  but  know  of  her  marriage  contracted 
without  his  consent,  she  might  forever  alienate 
his  affection.  But  he  was  stern  and  hard,  and 
she  feared  him  almost  as  much  as  she  loved  him. 
The  other  favorable  argument  was  the  romantic 
glamour  which  to  the  female  mind  attaches  to 
the  idea  of  a  secret  marriage.  She  consented. 

"To  avoid  publicity  we  arranged  to  be  married 
in  the  neighboring  State  of  Wisconsin.  In  the 
beautiful  little  town  of  Kenosha,  just  beyond  the 
State  line,  we  found  a  complaisant  minister  of  the 
Methodist  church,  who,  in  consideration  of  a 
liberal  fee,  agreed  to  marry  us.  In  five  minutes 
we  were  one — man  and  wife  beyond  all  perad ven- 
ture. We  returned  to  Chicago  and  drove  at  once 
-  here.  Seated  by  her  side  in  this  very  room, 
as  the  shades  of  evening  fell,  I  broke  to  my  bride 
the  truth  which  you  and  ten  thousand  others 
know  so  well.  Instead  of  being  a  wealthy  mer- 
chant engaged  in  legitimate  business,  I  was  a 
gambler,  dependent  upon  faro  for  a  living. 

"She  gave  me  no  time  for  explanations,  as  I 


72  Suppressed  Sensations. 

said.  I  had  intended  to  give  up  my  old  associa- 
tions and  strive  to  live  honestly  for  her  sake.  But 
my  confession  seemed  to  freeze  the  blood  in  her 
veins.  The  beautiful  face  took  on  a  look  of  stony 
calmness,  strangely  at  variance  with  the  dan- 
gerous steel-like  glitter  of  the  glorious  eyes. 

"'You  have  betrayed  me,'  she  cried.  'The 
ceremony  we  have  performed  gives  you  no  rights 
over  me.  I  leave  you  now  and  forever.  Follow 
me  not ;  your  touch  is  pollution  ;  your  presence 
is  an  insult/  And  as  she  spoke,  she  rose  from 
her  seat,  and  in  an  instant  gained  the  door.  How 
it  happened  I  can  never  tell,  but  for  the  first  time 
in  my  life  I  had  left  the  key  of  the  dead-latch  on 
the  outside  of  the  door.  I  was  too  late  to  arrest 
her  progress,  and  as  the  door  slammed  behind 
her  I  was  left  a  prisoner  in  my  own  room,  from 
which  I  was  unable  to  effect  my  release  for  more 
than  an  hour.  When  at  last  my  frantic  knock- 
ings  brought  the  janitor  to  my  assistance,  I  was 

almost  raving. 

***** 

"I  never  saw  her  again  alive.  The  next  day  I 
received,  at  the  address  I  had  given  her,  those  let- 
ters, and  learning  from  them  what  her  intention 
was,  I  immediately,  not  caring  for  the  conse- 


The  Carnival's  Victim.  73 

quences,  called  at  the  house  of  her  relatives  on  the 
avenue,  merely  to  find  them  in  the  wildest  de- 
spair at  her  absence,  she  never  having  been  seen 
since  the  night  of  the  Carnival. 

"Of  course  they  knew  nothing  of  me,  and  I 
turned  from  the  house,  determined  to  search  the 
city  over  until  I  should  discover  her  whereabouts. 
Oh,  God !  the  search  was  but  a  brief  one,  for  I 
heard  of  the  corpse  of  a  woman  having  been 
found  at  the  rear  of  the  Exposition  Building,  and 
with  the  raging  fires  of  hell  in  my  heart,  I  went 
to  the  Morgue.  I  saw  her  for  a  moment.  My  soul 
died  within  me.  I  would  have  given  myself  to 
the  nethermost  hell  for  ever  and  ever  to  have 
brought  her  back,  but  that  was  impossible,  and  I 
determined  to  follow  her.  My  cowardly  nature 
recoiled  at  suicide,  and  I  concocted  a  scheme  to 
attain  my  ends  without  actually  raising  my  own 
hand  against  my  life.  I  explained  to  my  brother 
gambler  a  plan  by  which  I  proposed  to  make  a 
big  haul.  It  was  to  culminate  by  a  quarrel  be- 
tween us,  during  which,  pistols  charged  blank 
were  to  be  exploded,  and  in  the  confusion  we 
were  to  make  off  with  the  swag.  I  loaded  the 
pistols,  one  with  powder  only,  the  other  with  sure 
death.  I  retained  the  harmless  one  and  gave  the 


74 


Suppressed  Sensations. 


loaded  one  to  ray  companion.    The  plan  succeed- 
ed admirably.     At  the  appointed  time  I  gave  the 
signal,  the  quarrel  commenced.     I  fired  my  blanl 
charge  at  my  chum,  he  returned  the  shot  whicl 
passed,  thank  God,  clean  through  my  lung." 

Of  course  I  have  not,  in  this  relation,  indicatec 
the  breaks  and  pauses  occasioned  by  the  spasms, 
and  fits  of  coughing  up  from  time  to  time  of  th< 
coagulated  blood  which  hindered  the  gambler' i 
utterance. 

As  he  finished  his  narration  he  fell  back  upoi 
the  pillows,  pointed  his  finger  in  the  direction  of 
the  door,  hoarsely  whispered  in  his  contractec 
throat,     "She  is  there  !     She  beckons  !     I  come 
I  come  !"  and  with  a  smile  upon  his  lips,  expim 


LEAF     IV. 


THE  STORY  OF  A  WAIF. 


NE    evening    in    the 
early  part  of  May, 
1876,  I  was  handed 
by   the  city  editor 
of  the  Chicago  daily 
paper  to  which  I  was 
then  attached,  a  brief 
note  couched  in  the  fol- 
lowing terms  : 


"  If  the  would  like  to  know 

the  truth  about  the  baby  which 
died  yesterday  at  the  Protestant 

Orphan  Asylum,  let  a  reporter  call  on  Mrs. 

Garvey,  No.  — ,  De  Puyster  street." 

This    note   came    by  mail,    ad- 
dressed to  the  Editor  of  the  —    — , 
and  was  apparently  the   produc- 
tion of  an  imperfectly  educated  person,  although 

(75) 


76  Suppressed  Sensations. 

the  spelling  was  correct  and  the  wording  direct 
and  to  the  point.  Newspaper  men  generally  look 
with  considerable  distrust  upon  anonymous  com- 
munications, but  this  scarcely  came  under  that 
head.  Turning  to  the  Directory  I  found  that  a 
Mr.  Garvey  did  live  at  the  number  given,  and 
that  he  was  a  shoemaker  by  trade.  Referring  to 
the  paper  of  that  day,  I  found  a  brief  mention  of 
the  death  of  the  child,  and  a  statement  that  it 
was  the  one  which  had  been  discovered,  about 
eight  nights  before,  in  front  of  the  Orphan  Asy- 
lum. I  looked  up  the  paper  of  that  date  and 
found  the  following : 

v. 

"  ANOTHER  FOUNDLING. 

"  Last  night  about  nine  o'clock  one  of  the  nurses 'at  the  Prot- 
estant Orphan  Asylum  on  Michigan  avenue,  near  Twenty-third 
street,  while  locking  the  outer  door,  preparatory  to  retiring  for 
the  night,  heard  a  faint,  wailing  sound  proceeding  from  some 
point  on  the  lawn  in  front  of  the  building.  She  listenodVand  the 
cry  was  repeated — unmistakably,  this  time,  the  cry  of  a  child. 
It  was  as  Wordsworth  has  it  : 

"  'An  infant  crying  in  the  night, 
An  infant  crying  for  the  light, 
And  with  no  language  but  a  cry.' 

"She  called  for  assistance  and  a  light  being  obtained,  they- 
found  under  a  tree  in  the  centre  of  the  lawn,  a  basket  containing 
a  beautiful  female  child,  apparently  about  six  months  old.  It  was 


The  Story  of  a  Waif.  77 


well  dressed,  its  clothing  being  of  fine  linen,  and  heavily  em- 
broidered, but  the  night  was  very  cold,  and  the  poor  child  was 
almost  chilled  to  death.  It  was  carefully  tended  by  the  matron 
and  her  assistants,  and  may  possibly  survive.  It  is  stated  by  per- 
sons connected  with  the  institution,  that  about  half-past  seven 
o'clock  a  carriage  drove  up  to  the  outer  gate.  It  stopped  but  for 
a  moment  and  then  passed  on  a  few  yards,  as  if  the  driver  had 
pulled  up  at  the  wrong  house.  One  of  the  nurses  fancied  that 
she  heard  the  outer  latch  click,  but  on  looking  out  saw  no  one, 
and  found  that  the  carriage  had  driven  off." 

It  appeared,  therefore,  that  in  spite  of  the  care 
which  had  been  bestowed  on  the  unfortunate 
baby,  it  had  succumbed  to  the  exposure  to  which 
it  had  been  subjected.  It  seemed  likely,  also, 
that  the  writer  of  the  letter  might  have  some  facts 
to  communicate  which  would  be  of  importance, 
and  accordingly  I  proceeded  to  the  address  given. 

Mr.  Garvey  turned  out  to  be  a  very  decent- 
looking  Scotchman,  and  his  wife  a  motherly  wo- 
man of  the  same  nationality.  They  had  three 
children,  one  a  baby  about  six  months  old.  I 
stated  my  business  and  showed  the  note  which 
had  been  received  at  the  office.  Contrary  to 
my  expectation,  Mrs.  G.  at  once  avowed  its 
authorship.  "We  thought,"  she  said,  "not 
to  have  said  anything  about  it,  but  we  thought 
when  the  poor  wee  thing  died,  that  it  was 


78  Suppressed  Sensations. 


time  somebody  should  know  about  its  cruel 
mother — as  she  calls  herself,  though  it's  no  bairn 
of  hers." 

The  story  which  these  good  people  had  to  tell 
was  a  strange  and  peculiar  one,  and  yet  what  they 
knew  was  but  the  smallest  half  of  the  truth. 
They  explained  that  a  little  over  five  months  be- 
fore, a  lady  richly  dressed  in  black  and  wearing  a 
profusion  of  .jewelry,  alighted  from  a  carriage  at 
their  door.  She  had  heard — how,  they  did  not 
know — that  Mrs.  Garvey  was  willing  to  take  a 
child  to  nurse.  She  said  that  her  sister  had  a 
young  child  which  she  was  unable  to  nurse,  and 
offered  what  was  to  the  Garveys  a  considerable 
sum  for  taking  care  of  the  child. 

As  a  guarantee  of  good  faith  she  paid  fifty 
dollars  in  advance,  and  agreed  that  Mrs.  G.  should 
have  the  care  of  the  infant  for  a  year.  Upon 
these  terms  they  agreed,  and  for  about  two 
months  all  went  well.  The  lady  came  at  fre- 
quent intervals,  always  bringing  sweetmeats  for 
the  Garvey  children,  and  occasionally  presents 
for  the  mother,  while  the  payments  were  regu- 
larly made.  But  curiously  enough  the  alleged 
mother  of  the  infant  did  not  appear  on  the  scene, 
nor  did  Mrs.  Mortimer,  for  that  was  the  name 


The  Story  of  a  Waif.  79 

the  lady  gave,  display  even  an  aunt's  affection 
for  the  little  one. 

About  the  middle  of  January  Mrs.  Mortimer 
made  to  the  Garveys  a  new  proposition.  She 
said  that  her  sister  had  to  go  to  California  to  join 
her  husband,  who  was  a  wealthy  merchant  in 
San  Francisco,  and  that  of  course  she  would  take 
the  child  along.  She  was  especially  anxious  to 
get  the  nurse  to  go  with  her,  and  promised  her  a 
large  remuneration.  But  Mrs.  Garvey  could  not 
leave  her  own  family,  even  though  tempted  by 
liberal  offers  of  reward,  and  the  end  of  it  was, 
that  on  the  next  day  Mrs.  Mortimer  came  again 
in  the  carriage,  bringing  with  her  a  younger  lady, 
who  remained  in  the  vehicle,  and  who  was — the 
mother  of  the  infant.  So  at  least  said  the  reputed 
aunt.  But  the  Garveys  only  got  a  glimpse  of 
this  person,  who  was  closely  veiled,  and  who 
never  spoke,  even  when  the  child  was  handed 
into  the  carriage.  The  pair  drove  off,  and  the 
shoemaker  and  his  wife,  although  there  existed 
in  the  minds  of  both  an  undefined  idea  that  there 
was  something  peculiar  about  the  whole  matter, 
•could  do  nothing  more  than,  surmise.  They  felt 
the  existence  of  a  mystery,  but  had  no  idea  of 
the  truth. 


About  six  weeks 
later  they  were  again 
surprised  by  the  reap- 
pearance of  Mrs.  Mor- 
timer. She  had  in- 
formed them  that  it 
was  her  intention  to 
reside  for  a  year  at 
least  upon  the  Pacific 
Slope  with  her  sister 
and  that  lady's  hus- 
band. Yet  here  she  was  again,  more 
I  handsomely  dressed  than  ever,  with  a 
pair  of  magnificent  solitaire  diamond 

.        (80) 


The  Story  of  a  Waif.  81 

-ear- rings  sparkling  in  the  light  as  she  moved, 
and  once  more  she  asked  Mrs.  Grarvey  to  take 
•charge  of  the  child. 

If  it  seemed  strange  before  that  the  child  of 
-wealthy  parents  should  be  committed  so  freely 
to  the  care  of  an  utter  stranger,  to  be  brought  up 
with  the  children  of  a  mechanic,  it  seemed 
doubly  strange  that  it  should  now  be  returned 
to  its  foster  mother  in  this  summary  fashion. 

Mrs.  Garvey's  womanly  curiosity  was  excited, 
and  she  asked  a  series  of  questions,  the  only 
effect  of  which  was  apparently  to  render  Mrs. 
Mortimer  rather  uncomfortable.  She  said  that 
her  sister  had  poor  health  in  California,  and  had 
been  ordered  by  the  physicians  to  travel  in 
Europe.  The  child  was  too  great  a  task  for  her, 
and  if  the  nurse  would  take  it  again  she  might 
bring  it  up  with  her  own  children.  She  should 
be  liberally  paid,  but  she  must  ask  no  more 
•questions.  Some  day  the  infant  should  be  re- 
claimed, but  in  the  meantime  it  needed  more 
•care  than  the  mother  could  give  it. 

After  considerable  demur  the  terms  were  agreed 
upon,  and  once  more  Mrs.  (jrarvey  took  charge 
of  the  little  one.  She  was  horrified  to  find  that 
•during  its  short  absence  it  had  been  scandalously 


82  Suppressed  Sensations. 


neglected,  and  seemingly  not  more  than  half  fed. 
But  under  her  care,  and  that  of  a  doctor  whom 
she  called  in,  it  rapidly  began  to  recover  ita 
strength,  and  was  soon  in  good  health. 

But  for  some  reason  or  other  Mrs.  Mortimer 
did  not  seem  either  so  attentive  or  so  responsive 
with  her  payments  as  upon  the  previous  occasion, 
and  after  three  weeks  had  passed  she  ceased  com- 
ing altogether  to  the  little  house  on  De  Puyster 
street.  Garvey  became  alarmed,  and  called  at 
the  address  which,  she  gave  upon  her  first  visit. 
This  was  at  one  of  the  most  fashionable  boarding- 
houses  in  the  city,  situated  in  the  most  aristo- 
cratic quarter,  and  known  to  receive  only  the  very 
cream  of  society.  Here  he  learned  that  the  lady 
had  left  there  about  two  months  before,  saying 
that  she  was  going  to  Europe. 

Garvey  began  to  be  afraid  that  he  was  saddled, 
with  one  more  incumbrance  than  he  had  bar- 
gained for,  but  being  a  persevering  fellow  he 
resolved  to  search  the  hotels  through,  and  to 
track  Mrs.  M.  if  it  were  possible. 

He  tried  them  all  and  without  success.  No 
such  person  boarded  at  any  of  the  more  promi- 
nent hotels.  But  chance  threw  in  his  way  what 
patient  search  might  never  have  revealed.  He 


The  Story  of  a  Waif. 


83 


had  made  his  inquiry  of  the  clerk  at  the  - 
House,  received  the  usual  answer,  and  was  turn- 
ing away.  A  gentleman  standing  by  was  at- 
tracted by  the  earnestness  of  the  man  and  asked 
him,  half  in  joke,  what  the  lady  was  like.  Gar- 
vey  described  her,  and  the  gentleman,  turning  to 
the  clerk,  said:  "By  George!  he  means  Mrs. 
Baxter."  True  enough,  Garvey  had  ran  his 
game  to  earth.  Mrs.  Mortimer  was  none  other 
than  the  dashing  widow  who,  under  the  name 
of  Baxter,  had  recently  attracted  great  attention 
from  the  boarders  at  the  -  -  Hotel.  At  this 
time  she  was  the  recipient  of  assiduous  attentions 
from  one  of  the  most  prominent  of  Chicago's 
merchant  princes,  a  widower  of  about  forty-five 
years  of  age,  and  who  has  since  received  a  great 
deal  of  newspaper  notoriety  as  the  chief  engineer 
)f  one  of  the  most  gigantic  "corners"  ever  run 
in  the  Chicago  wheat  market. 

Garvey  waited  until  the  l^dy  returned  to  the 
lotel  and  then  almost  forced  himself  into  her 
)resence.  This  he  could  scarcely  have  done  but 
for  the  assistance  of  the  gentleman  to  whom  he 
had  spoken,  and  who  was  a  boarder  in  the  house. 
Beside  this  he  was  a  man-about-town  and  pretty 
well  posted  on  a  good  many  matters.  The  pecu- 


84  Suppressed  Sensations. 

liarities  of  the  case  struck  him  somewhat,  and  he 
took  an  opportunity  to  question  the  shoemaker 
about  it.  What  he  heard  only  made  him  desir- 
ous of  knowing  more,  and  it  was  from  him  that 
I  learned  the  inside  history  of  this  strange  case, 
as  will  be  hereafter  shown. 

But  to  resume  our  story.  The  lady  was  indig- 
nant at  what  she  was  pleased  to  consider  an 
intrusion  on  her  privacy,  and  angrily  told  Gar- 
vey  that  she  would  call  upon  him  the  next  day. 
She  did  so,  and  announced  that  she  would  re- 
move the  child.  This  promise  she  carried  out 
on  the  night  of  the  27th  of  April,  coming  in  a 
hired  carriage  and  accompanied  this  time  by  one 
of  the  most  prominent  physicians  of  the  South 
Division.  The  Garveys  were  told  that  the  child 
was  to  be  placed  in  the  care  of  an  asjdum,  and 
although  they  protested  against  this,  they  were 
powerless  in  the  matter. 

Such  was  the  story  told  by  Garvey  and  his 
wife,  and  of  this  I  received  the  fullest  corrobora- 
tipn  from  other  quarters.  I  found  out  much 
more.  Acting  upon  a  clue  which  I  received  in  a 
very  peculiar  way,  I  found  the  coachman  who 
drove  Mrs.  Mortimer-Baxter  and  her  medical 
companion,  first  to  De  Puyster  street,  and  after- 


The  Story  of  a  Waif.  85 

wards  to  Michigan  avenue  and  Twenty-second 
street.  He  told  me  who  the  doctor  was,  and 
conclusively  proved  that  this  prominent  physi- 
cian, who  to-day  has  a  reputation  as  one  of  the 
most  skillful  in  Chicago,  in  the  treatment  of 
difficult  surgical  cases,  and  who  is  a  member  of 
half  a  dozen  learned  societies,  was  the  man  who 
placed  the  helpless  infant  on  the  lawn  of  the 
Asylum,  and  by  thus  exposing  it  to  the  inclem- 
ency of  the  weather  caused  its  death. 

There  remained  only  to  find  out  the  motive  for 
this  atrocious  piece  of  cruelty.  The  death  of 
the  child  might  not  have  been  desired,  but  the 
means  taken  to  dispose  of  it  were  of  such  a  char- 
acter that  the  woman  and  the  doctor  were  really 
the  instruments  of  its  death.  I  wrote  the  story 
up  as  I  got  it  from  the  Garveys,  being  amply 
satisfied  of  its  substantial  truth.  One  of  my 
associates  called  upon  Mrs.  Baxter,  at  the  - 
Hotel,  and  as  delicately  as  possible  asked  her 
what  she  knew  of  the  case.  She  was  indignant 
in  the  highest  degree,  and  threatened  the  direst 
vengeance  on  any  one  who  should  assail  her 
good  name  by  such  a  publication.  No  sooner 
had  he  left  than  she  summoned  her  French  maid, 
and  all  night  long  the  two  women  sat  up  packing. 


80  Suppressed  Sensations. 


Before  the  eight  o'clock  train  left  for  the  East, 
Mrs.  Baxter  sent  for  her  bill,  and  in  half  an  hour 
she  was  speeding  over  the  Lake  Shore  Railroad, 
tickets  for  New  York  in  her  pocket.  Three 
days  later,  I  was  informed  by  telegraph  from  our 
New  York  correspondent  that  she  had  sailed  for 
Europe  in  the  Germanica. 

The  reader  can  not  have  forgotten  the  thrill  of 
horror  which  ran  through  the  country  when  the 
news  came  of  the  terrible  catastrophe  in  the 
British  Channel,  when  the  Germanica  was  run 
down  by  a  heavily-laden  merchant  vessel,  and  all 
on  board,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  sailors, 
perished.  Among  those  who  found  a  watery 
grave  were  Mrs.  Mortimer  -  Baxter  and  her 
maid  —  the  same  woman  who  played  the  role 
of  the.  mother  of  the  child  on  the  night  that 
it  was  first  taken  from  the  house  on  De  Puy- 
ster  street. 

-*  #  *  *  # 

On  the  night  of  -  -  I  met  in  the  card-room 
of  one  of  Chicago's  fashionable  clubs  the  gentle- 
man who  spoke  to  Garvey  on  the  night  of  his 
visit  to  the  -  -  Hotel.  I  had  gone  to  the  club 
to  hunt  up  a  New  York  gentleman  visiting  in  the 
city,  and  there  met  Mr.  -  — .  "Oh,  by  the 


88  Suppressed  Sensations. 

way,"  said  lie,  "have  you  ever  found  out  who 
Mrs.  Mortimer-Baxter  was?" 

"  No,"  I  replied,  "  have  you  ? " 

"  I  have,"  was  the  quiet  answer  ;  "  would  you 
like  to  hear  the  story  ? ' ' 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  "  I  should  like  to  know  the 
motive  for  all  that  mystery." 

"Sit  down,  then,"  said-  — ,  "and  Til  tell 
you  all  about  it."  And  with  this  preface  he 
told  me  a  story,  which  I  condense  as  follows : 

Mrs.  Mortimer  was  the  daughter  of  one  of  the 
wealthiest  of  the  Virginian  planter  aristocracy, 
who  in  ante- war  times  maintained  upon  his  es- 
tates in  the  beautiful  country  south  of  the  James 
river,  a  degree  of  state  and  a  free-handed  hos- 
pitality, which  was  considered  prodigal,  even  for 
that  time,  and  among  the  society  of  which  the 
family  were  hereditary  leaders.  The  war  broke 
out  when  Victorine  Markham  had  just  reached 
her  sixteenth  year.  Her  personal  charms  were 
great,  and  her  father's  wealth  and  social  position 
would  have  rendered  even  a  less  highly-gifted 
girl  a  great  prize  in  the  matrimonial  market. 
But  she  had  no  need  of  any  adventitious  aids, 
her  beauty  alone  sufficed  to  attract  to  her  side 
.many  wooers,  and  the  lady  of  Kinsley  Hall  was 


The  Story  of  a  Waif.  89- 


recognized  even  by  women  as  the  belle  of  that 
whole  section. 

Like  all  her  fair  sisters  in  the  South,  Miss 
Markham  was  carried  away  with  enthusiasm 
over  the  Secessionist  movement.  Her  father  was 
a  trusted  counsellor  of  the  late  chief  of  the 
Southern  Confederacy,  and  of  all  her  male  rela- 
tives, friends  and  admirers,  there  was  not  one  but 
felt  ardently  the  fighting  flame,  and  went  forth  to 
battle  for  their  State,  and  against  the  Northerner, 
whom  they  hated  so  fiercely.  In  those  times 
events  marched  rapidly,  and  conventional  delays 
were  swept  aside  with  a  rude  hand.  Thus  it 
came  that  when  Henry  Mortimer,  a  young  Caro- 
linian who  had  greatly  distinguished  himself  as 
a  cavalry  officer,  and  who  was  at  that  time  in 
high  command  at  Richmond,  proposed  marriage, 
the  consummation  of  his  hopes  was  not  long 
deferred. 

But  the  dream  of  happiness  was  short.  Mor- 
timer was  assigned  to  active  duties  in  the  West, 
and  fell  at  Chickamauga.  Thus  Victorine- 
found  herself  at  nineteen  the  widow  of  a  Major 
General,  and  yet  a  beggar.  Her  father's  estates 
were  devastated  and  his  property  destroyed  by 
the  victorious  Union  soldiers,  and  the  proud  man, 


90  Suppressed  Sensations. 


who  had  borne  himself  so  high  in  his  prosperity, 
died  in  the  latter  part  of  1865,  the  victim  of  a 
•  broken  heart. 

Left  thus  alone,  the  young  widow,  still  charm- 
ing and  even  more  lovely  than  when  as  a  girl  she 
graced  her  father's  mansion,  was  compelled  to 
cast  about  for  a  means  of  livelihood.  She  was 
accomplished  as  well  as  beautiful,  but  unhappily 
her  early  training  had  ill-litted  her  for  a  battle 
with  the  stern  realities  of  life.  She  was  fond  of 
power  and  pomp,  of  money  not  for  its  own  sake 
but  for  that  which  it  commanded,  and  she  was 
sadly  deficient  in  moral  principle. 

She  drifted,  after  one  or  two  adventures  which 
need  not  be  here  especially  mentioned,  to  Wash- 
ington, and  there  in  the  meretricious  society 
which  cursed  the  National  Capital,  she  reigned 
once  more  a  queen.  She  became  a  lobbyist,  and 
executed  alone  two  or  three  of  the  most  daring 
coups  made  at  that  time.  It  was  an  era  of  cor- 
ruption and  bribery,  when  tens  of  millions  of 
acres  of  the  public  domain  were  unblushingly 
voted  away  by  the  sworn  guardians  of  the  people, 
and  when  honesty  hid  its  head,  and  the  specula- 
tor, the  legislator  and  the  lobbyist  formed  part- 
nerships by  the  score. 


The  Story  of  a  Waif.  01 


This  could  not  last,  and  few  years  had  passed 
before  Mrs.  Mortimer  found  that  her  occupation 
as  an  influencer  of  senile  Senators  and  corrupti- 
ble Congressmen  had  passed  away.  •  She  became 
an  adventuress,  pure  and  simple.  From  Sara- 
toga to  Newport,  Long  Branch  to  Cape  May, 
she  moved  with  the  seasons,  and  finally,  in 
the  spring  succeeding  the  great  fire,  she  removed 
to  the  West.  In  Chicago  she  met  for  the  first 
time  a  recently  elected  Senator  from  a  far 
Western  State,  one  for  whom  lavish  nature  has 
laid  bare  her  laboratory  of  glittering  ore,  and 
whose  wealth  in  mining  property  is  reckoned  by 
millions. 

It  is  said,  and  there  appears  to  be  considerable 
foundation  for  the  statement,  that,  during  her 
residence  in  Washington,  the  wily  lobbyist  was 
herself  deluded  and  wronged.  Almost  every 
swindler  finds  some  one  more  unscrupulous  and 
daring  than  himself,  and  it  was  so  in  this  wo- 
man's case.  An  Englishman  named  Baxter,  a 
worthless  scion  of  a  good  family,  and  with  a 
title  in  expectancy,  but  no  immediate  reliance 
other  than  cards  and  billiards,  proved  more 
than  a  match  even  for  the  skilled  female  diplo- 
matist. They  were  married,  it  is  said,  pri- 


92  Suppressed  Sensations. 


vately,  and  as  we  have  seen,  she  bore  his  name- 
at  times. 

What  has  become  of  Baxter  is  not  known,  but 
it  seems  that  the  dashing  Southerner  considered 
herself  a  free  agent,  for  during  her  first  stay  in 
Chicago  it  was  openly  bruited  that  she  would 
marry  the  legislator  from  the  Pacific  Slope. 

Somehow  or  other  this  fell  through,  and  partly 
for  revenge — partly,  no  doubt,  with  a  view  to  the- 
extortion  of  a  large  sum  of  money — she  procured 
the  child  whose  melancholy  fate  we  have  re- 
corded. Its  mother  was  induced  to  part  with  it 
by  liberal  promises  of  reward,  and  the  adven- 
turess, with  her  colleague  and  assistant,  the- 
French  waiting-maid,  visited  California  as  nar- 
rated. 

Their  scheme  partly  succeeded  and  partly 
failed,  for  although  the  Senator,  with  a  whole- 
some fear  of  exposure,  bled  freely  of  his  wealth, 
he  was  shrewd  enough  to  couple  with  the  com-  • 
promise  which  was  made,  a  written  stipulation! 
that  he  should  be  freed  from  all  further  claims. 
Thus  the  unhappy  infant,  the  unconscious  in- 
strument of  a  wicked  woman,  became  an  incum- 
brance  to  her,  and  this  was  the  reason  why  she 
and  her  confederates  removed  it  from  the  care  of 


The  Story  of  a  Waif. 


93 


the  Garveys,  and  placed  it  at  the  door  of  the 
institution.  To  judge  her  charitably — for  she 
has  gone  now  where  He  who  knows  all  will  act 
as  Judge — we  may  hope  that  her  intent  was  not 
murder,  and  that  the  death  of  the  poor  child 
was  not  anticipated.  But  the  case  taken  in  all 
its  bearings,  was  one  of  the  strangest  I  ever  met, 
and  it  is  told  to-day  for  the  first  time. 


'CO 


LEAF    V. 


THE  TELL-TALE  SKULL. 


VEN  in   this  anything 
but   romantic   age  the 
indefatigable    seeker 
after  sensational  items 
for    the    daily  papers 
occasionally     drops 
upon     something    so 
strange  that  the  wild- 
est  imagination    of  the 
professional   novelist   is 
commonplace    in    com- 
parison.    How  the   fol- 


lowing strange  story  came  to  the 
knowledge  of  the  writer  concerns  not  the 
reader.    Every  word  of  it  is  true,  and  though  the 
names  have  been  carefully  concealed  by  the  use 
of  fictitious  rather  than  real  ones,  yet  there  are 

(95) 


96  Suppressed  Sensations. 

many  residents  of  Chicago  who  will  recognize 
the  parties  concerned,  and  find  the  main  inci- 
dents familiar. 

There  was  nothing  strange  about  the  house,  No. 
-  Wabash  avenue.  It  was  one  of  those  compara- 
tively old-fashioned  red  brick  structures  with  a 
high  stoop,  of  which  whole  rows  vie  with  each 
other  in  the  exquisite  cleanness  of  the  steps,  the 
trim  order  of  the  small  garden,  and  the  luxuriance 
of  the  window  plants.  A  smarter  darkey  than  the 
one  who  here  answered  the  door  bell  could  not 
be  found  on  the  avenue,  a  more  faultless  turnout 
than  the  dark  green  and  brown  glass-fronted 
carriage,  with  its  pair  of  coal  black  horses,  never 
carried  a  prettier  couple  than  Hattie  and  Selina 
Smith,  the  daughters  of  Hiram  Smith,  the  retired 
broker  who  occupied  this  genteel  residence. 

Hiram  Smith  was  reputed  one  of  the  wealthiest 
citizens  of  Chicago,  and  although  never  seen 
more  on  'Change,  he  was  largely  interested  in 
stocks  of  various  kinds,  and  there  was  scarcely 
a  dividend  declared  on  any  of  the  safe  and  profit- 
able investments  connected  with  the  city,  or, 
indeed,  the  Northwest,  which  did  not  add  con- 
siderably to  his  bank  account. 

On  a  fine  morning  in  January,  some  eighteen 


The  Tell -Tale  Skull.  97 


months  before  this  fourth  of  July,  1879,  Smith  was 
seated  at  an  elegant  rosewood  escritoire  in  the 
luxurious  library,  which  fronted  on  the  avenue, 
overlooking  a  large  package  of  deeds,  bonds, 
mortgages,  and  other  securities,  which  for  some 
purpose  or  other  he  had  that  morning  removed 
from  the  Fidelity  vaults. 

"There,"  said  he,  "those  West  Side  street 
shares  will  realize  at  least  sixty  thousand,  those 
North  Side  shares  will  bring  me  half  as  much, 
the  Express  scrip  at  58£  will  net  close  upon  forty 
thousand,  my  Rock  Islands  are  good  for  twenty- 
five,  and  that  Lockport  property  has  sold  for 
half  cash  and  half  Toledo  and  Wabash,  the  title 
is  accepted,  no  suspicions  are  aroused,  and  the 
old  place  with  all  its  unpleasant  recollections  is 
off  my  hands.  The  great  secret  is  now  a  secret 
forever ;  dead  men  tell  no  tales.  I  have  only 
now  to  transfer  this  house  and  the  rest  of  my 
Chicago  real  estate,  and  the  vast  stake  I  played 
so  boldly  for  is  won.  Vivian  returns  this  week, 
the  marriage  must  not  be  delayed,  once  get  him 
.safely  tied  to  Hattie,  and  Selina  the  wife  of  Clar- 
ges,  the  scheme  is  complete,  my  hands  are  unfet- 
tered, and  I  am  free.  All  good  Americans  when 
they  die  go  to  Paris,  but  I  prefer  seeing  the  me- 


98  Suppressed  Sensations. 

tropolis  of  luxury  in  the  flesh.     What  a  lucky 

thing  Vivian  did  not  return  until Here  his 

soliloquy  was  interrupted  by  a  rattling  voice  in 
the  hall — "All  right,  Snowball,  I'll  introduce 
myself." 

We  can  not  be  as  nonchalant  about  so  impor- 
tant a  character  as  the  hero  of  our  little  life 
drama  was  about  himself,  and  must  try  to  de- 
scribe the  dashing  young  fellow,  who,  at  the 
conclusion  of  this  off-hand  speech  dashed  into 
the  presence  of  the  millionaire.  Vivian  Denston 
was  a  tall  young  "main* of  some  five  and  twenty 
summers,  whose  profession  was  the  law,  but 
whose  business  was  pleasure.  His  face  was 
almost  a  regular  oval,  his  eye  a  piercing  hazel, 
his  hair  ebony  black,  and  his  lips  thin,  and 
when  the  face  was  in  repose  decidedly  cruel. 
He  was  thoroughly  chic  in  his  dress,  and  his 
boots,  gloves  and  hat  were  unmistakably  Pa- 
risian. 

As  he  entered,  Smith's  back  was  towards  the 
door,  but  Vivian  crossed  the  room  unhesitatingly 
and  tapped  him  on  the  shoulder. 

Smith  started,  exclaimed  "  Who' s  there  ?"  and 
turning,  continued,  "Talk  of  the  devil  and— 
Denston,  my  boy,  how  do  you  do  ?  " 


The  Tell -Tale  Skull.  99 


"Oh,"  replied  Denston,  "salubrious.  Euro- 
pean air  has  not  spoiled  my  complexion,  Paris 
girls  have  not  stolen  my  heart,  French  suppers 
have  not  ruined  my  health  nor  destroyed  my 
appetite ;  but  Hiram,  my  Cro3sus,  what  are 
these?"  and  he  unceremoniously  seized  upon  a 
bundle  of  deeds  and  bonds. 

"Those,"  answered  Smith,  "those,  my  boy, 
are  the  blood  of  life,  the  stuff  we  Yankees  dig, 
delve,  slave,  travel,  - 

"And  murder  for,  eh  ?  "  interrupted  Vivian. 

"  What's  that  you  say  ?  Oh,  ah,  1  see,  a  joke, 
eh?  Devilish  good,  upon  my  word.  But  have 
you  seen  Hattie?" 

"Why,"  replied  Denston,  "that  is  just  the 
business  I  want  to  talk  about  to  you.  You  see 
I'm-  -" 

"In  a  deuce  of  a  hurry  to  make  her  Mrs. 
Vivian  Denston  ;  of  course  it' s  quite  natural  in 
you  young  fellows." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  young  man,  "  I  dare  say  it  is ; 
but  you  see,  Smith,  that  don' t  happen  to  be  my 
case.  I've  altered  my  opinion." 

"What?  altered  your  opinion?  Did  you  not 
propose,  were  you  not  accepted  ?  I  gave  you  my 
consent,  and  - 


100  Suppressed  Sensations. 


"Ha!  ha  !  "  laughed  Vivian.  "All  very  right, 
strictly  O  K,  most  paternal  papa,  but  you  see 
since  I've  been  to  Paris  and  seen  more  of  the  bon 
ton,  as  the  parlez  vous  call  it,  I've  changed  my 
mind  and  must  decline  - 

"An  alliance  with  my  family,"  roared  Hiram 
Smith. 

'  •  Soft  and  easy,  soft  and  easy.  Don' t  let  your 
dander  rise.  That's  not  exactly  the  case,  but 
then,  you  see,  Hattie  is  one  of  those  divine  little 
domestic  creatures,  decidedly  without  dash. 
Now  I  find  that  dash  is  the  thing,  and  I  propose 
asking  you  for  the  hand  of  her  sister." 

At  this  audacious  proposal,  Smith  lost  all 
control  of  his  temper,  and  he  shrieked  rather 
than  replied,  "  Her  sister  !  Sir,  is  my  family  to 
be  at  your  beck  and  call  ?  Am  I  to  submit  to  the 
affections  of  my  child  being  thus  trifled  with  ? 
You  know  how  she  loves  you,  how  popular 
report  has  already  mated  you,  and  how  her  fair 
name  will  be  compromised.  No,  sir,  it  can  not 
be,  neither  would  Selina  submit  to  it,  and  I,  sir, 
as  the  father  of  a  family  - 

"  I  know  all  that,  my  friend,  have  read  it  in 
the  romances  of  the  period,  but  -  — "  Here 
Vivian  spoke  very  slowly  and  with  a  tantalizing 


The  Tell -Tale  Skull.  101 

pause  between  every  word,  at  the  same  time  dis- 
engaging a  somewhat  bulky  and  peculiar  looking 
parcel  tied  up  in  a  silk  handkerchief,  from  his 
<joat-tail  pocket;  "we  will  change  the  subject. 
I  have  a  curiosity  here."  He  deliberately  untied 
the  bandanna,  and  produced  a  bleached  and  grin- 
ning skull. 

"  Good  Heavens !  "  cried  Smith,  "  Denston,  are 
you  mad  \  What  on  earth  do  you  mean  ? " 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Vivian,  "not  mad,  merely  a 
modern  Hamlet,  with  all  his  philosophy,  but 
none  of  his  mania.  I  only  wished  to  call  your 

attention   to  a  peculiarity  about  this  cranium. 

• 

Do  you  see  it  has  a  perforation  at  the  back, 
which,  although  evidently  arising  from  collision 
with  a  pistol  ball,  could  hardly  have  been  received 
in  this  location  during  the  exchange  of  civilities 
in  an  honorable  duel." 

During  this  speech,  Smith,  evidently  overcome 
by  some  internal  struggle,  sank  into  his  chair  and 
stared  with  blank  astonishment  at  the  speaker. 
The  effort  to  control  his  feelings  was  useless,  and 
he  exclaimed  in  an  agony  of  terror,  "Help! 
help  !  air  !  I  choke  ! ' ' 

With  the  utmost  coolness  Denston  continued. 
"  Strange  effect  it  seems  to  have  on  the  old 


102  Suppressed  Sensations. 


gentleman."  He  placed  the  skull  upon  the 
table,  and  unbuttoned  the  collar  of  his  com- 
panion, whose  staring  eyes  and  engorged  tem- 
ples seemed  to  threaten  .apoplexy.  By  vig- 
orous fanning,  however,  on  the  part  of  Vivian, 
and  a  violent  mental  effort  on  his  own,  Smith 
overcame  his  silent  terror,  and  ^exclaimed,  "A 
pistol  ball,  ball,  ball !  Take  it  away  !  take  it 
away  ! " 

4 'Why,  what's  the  matter,  Smith?"  coolly 
asked  Denston.  "Are  yon  personally  interested 
in  that  specimen  of  defunct  humanity  ? " 

Smith,  recovering  his  presence  of  mind,  ex- 
claimed, "  Ha  !  ha  !  a  joke,  a  devilish  good  joke. 
Interested  ?  Not  I,  but  my  nerves  are  none  of 
the  strongest,  and  having  that  nasty  thing 
popped  under  my  nose  - 

"Do  you  know  where  that  skull  was  found  ? " 
asked  \7ivian. 

"  How  should  I  ?"  queried  Smith. 

"  Well,  it  was  accidentally  dug  up  at  Lock- 
port.  I  can  tell  you  the  exact  spot." 

"No,  thank  you,  my  boy,  I  take  no  interest 
in  antiquarian  researches." 

"Nor  the  clearing  up  of  long-hid  mysteries, 
eh?" 


i 


The  Tell -Tale  Skull.  103 


"Say  no  more  about  it,  Denston.  What  can 
I  do  for  you,  my  dear  friend  ? " 

''Well,  my  dear  prospective  father-in-law,  I 
wish  you  to  use  your,  influence  with  Selina.  I 
must  and  will,  mark  me,  will  marry  Selina,  and 
then,  you  see,  I  shall  take  no  further  interest  in 
antiquarian  researches,  and  get  rid  of  my  speci- 
mens." 

To  this  modest  request,  Smith,  now  completely 
humbled,  replied,  "Well,  of  course,  as  long  a& 
you  honor  my  family  with  an  alliance,  it  matters 
but  little  which  daughter  you  take.  But  no 
more  of  it  at  present,  I  hear  her  footstep  in  th& 

hall." 

* 

At  this  moment  the  door  opened  and  a  tall, 
elegantly  formed,  dashing  blonde,  whose  dusky 
golden  ringlets  hung  like  a  sheaf  of  sunbeams 
round  a  face  fair  as  the  bosom  of  the  sea-born 
deity,  came  tripping  into  the  room,  saying  as  she 
entered,  "Oh,  papa,  you  promised-  '  then 
seeing  Vivian  she  added,  "I  beg  your  pardon, 
sir,  I  fancied  pa  was  alone." 

"  Come  in,  child,"  replied  her  father.  "  Thia 
is  an  old  acquaintance,  fresh  from  Paris, 
with  a  complete  knowledge  of  bonnets  and 
bijouterie." 


104  Suppressed  Sensations. 


"Miss  Smith,"  said  Vivian,  bowing  politely, 
"permit  me  to  congratulate  you  upon  your 
-appearance  ;  you  are  as  charming  as  ever." 

To  this  flattering  speech  Selina  replied,  haughti- 
ly, "Mr.  Denston  will  reserve  his  French  com- 
pliments for  more  welcome  ears." 

"For  shame  !  Selina,"  almost  angrily  retorted 
her  father.  "  Have  you  no  word  of  welcome  for 
an  old  friend  \  You  who  were  the  subject  of  our 
conversation  as  you  came  in  ? " 

Selina  asked,  "To  what  cause  do  I  owe  the 
honor  of  Mr.  Denston' s  remarks  ?  " 

Not  knowing  how  far  the  sudden  interest  taken 
in  his  affairs  might  lead  Mr.  Smith  to  go,  and 
recognizing  discretion  as  the  better  part  of  valor, 
Mr.  Denston  checked  him  as  he  was  about  to 
reply,  and  said,  "Miss  Smith,  it  will  probably  be 
more  fitting  that  I  should  retire  and  leave  a  mat- 
ter of  some  delicacy  in  the  hands  of  your 
respected  papa.  So  au  revoir—Sind.  Mr.  Smith 
I  will  see  you  again  about — about  those  anti- 
quarian researches  I  was  speaking  of." 

Taking  his  hat  he  then  retired,  saying  to  him- 
self as  he  crossed  the  hall,  "And  now,  John 
Fleming,  I  think  I  have  checkmated  you." 

The  gentleman  thus  cavalierly  alluded  to  was 


106  Suppressed  Sensations. 

a  highly  prosperous  merchant,  whose  business 
was  one  of  the  most  lucrative  in  the  city,  and 
between  whom  and  Vivian  Denston  there  was 
a  bitter  enmity,  and  who,  it  was  whispered 
among  fashionable  society,  was  the  accepted 
lover  of  Miss  Selina  Smith. 

"No  sooner  had  the  gallant  gay  Lothario 
quitted  the  library  than  Selina  asked  her  father 
the  meaning  of  this  mystery,  this  matter  of  some 
•delicacy.  All  the  satisfaction  she  obtained  was 
in  the  form  of  a  question.  "Do  you  love  your 
father?" 

' '  Has  he  ever  had  reason  to  doubt  my  affec- 
tion ? "  *  was  the  response. 

Her  father  replied,  "  Words  of  mere  compli- 
ment mean  but  little,  except  accompanied  by 
obedience." 

"  Did  I  ever  disobey  you,  papa  ? " 

"No,  child,  but  you  must  prepare  to  accede 
to  a  very  abrupt  proposition." 

"And  that  is ?" 

"To  marry  Vivian  Denston." 

"Never!  never !"  exclaimed  the  astonished 
and  frightened  girl. 

"Selina,"  replied  her  father,  I  tell  you  he 
must  be  your  husband,  or  - 


The  Tell -Tale  Skull.  10T 

"  Father,"  almost  shrieked  his  terrified  daugh- 
ter, ' '  in  all  that  doth  become  a  dutiful  child,  I 
have  ever  been  obedient,  but  to  prove  false  to  the 
man  I  love — and  I  do  love,  papa — to  be  the  slave 
of  a  man's  caprice,  the  rival  of  a  sister,  and  the 
bride  of  one  whom  I  fear  and  loathe,  would  as 
little  become  me  to  endure  as  it  seems  to  me 
unfatherly  in  you  to  require.  Who  is  this  grand 
Turk  who  has  liberty  to  enter  our  house  and  fling 
his  handkerchief  first  at  one  and  then  at  the 
other  according  to  the  idle  fancy  of  the  hour?" 

Angry  and  ashamed  of  himself,  but  borne 
down  by  what  he  knew  to  be  a  fatal  necessity, 
he  sternly  replied,  u  You  shall  know  what  it  is 
to  thwart  a  fathers  will.  Prepare  this  night  to 
receive  Vivian  Denston  as  your  accepted  lover, 
or  I  will  show  you  that  such  punishment  awaits 
a  disobedient  child  as  she  little  dreams  of." 

"Oh,  father!"  exclaimed  the  poor  girl,  "by 
my  sainted  mother's  memory,  by  your  recollec- 
tions of  your  own  wedded  love,  you  can  not,  you 
will  not 

"No  more,"  he  cried,  interrupting  her.  "It 
must  be  as  I  say.  You  marry  Denston,  or  a 
dying  father's  curse  will  drag  you  to  perdition. 
Love,  bah! — choice,  nonsense! — a  sick  girl's 


108  Suppressed  Sensations. 


dream.  Marriage  now-a-days  is  but  a  convent 
ience;  fortune,  a  home,  a  position  in  society — all 
these  will  be  yours.  I  can  lavish  wealth  upon 
you,  and  Denston  is  rich.  I'll  hold  no  Barley 
with  a  disobedient  daughter.  Make  up  your 
mind  to  marry  him.  Be  brave  and  you  can 
command  happiness.  I  will  see  him  again  this 
afternoon — shall  tell  him  to  call  this  evening. 
Receive  him  as  your  lover,  accept  him  as  your 
husband,  or  dread  the  consequences  of  your 
folly." 

Saying  this,  and  spurning  her  from  him,  he^ 
abruptly  left  the  room,  leaving  her  upon  the 
floor  where  she  had  flung  herself  in  a  last  appeal 
to  her  father's  generosity.  Rising  from  her  pros- 
trate position,  and  with  an  effort  nerving  herself 
for  the  struggle  she  felt  must  come,  she  ex- 
claimed, "Marry  Denston! — a  father's  curse  I 
Oh,  no  !  he  could  not  curse  his  child.  But  he  is  a 
harsh  man  and  will  not  be  thwarted.  Meet 
Vivian  to-night — to-night !  No  !  sooner  shall  the 
calm  bosom  of  the  lake  receive  one  more  victim, 
sooner  shall  death  bear  me  to  my  mother's  arms, 
than  I  become  the  bride  of  this  man,  this  mon- 
ster without  a  heart." 

Her  mind  was  made  up,  her  resolve  taken,  and 


TJie  Tell -Tale  Skull.  109 


quietly  she  went  about  making  her  preparations. 
Liberally  supplied  with  pocket  money,  she  was 
not  without  funds,  and  packing  up  a  few  neces- 
sary articles  in  so  small  a  compass  as  to  avoid 
suspicion,  she  watched  for  a  favorable  oppor- 
tunity, and  when  her  father  went  down  town  to 
report  to  Denston  the  result  of  his  negotiations, 
she  silently  quitted  the  house.  Great  was  the 
astonishment  of  the  household  at  the  evening 
meal  when  Selina  was  found  missing.  Of  course 
no  one  except  her  father  could  imagine  any 
cause  for  her  absence,  and  her  sister,  until  late 
at  night,  imagined  that  she  had  been  detailed 
at  the  house  of  some  friend.  Hour  after  hour 
passed  away. 

The  expectant  lover  came  according  to  the 
appointment  made  with  her  father,  attired  in  all 
the  glory  of  full  evening  costume,  and  it  may 
be  imagined  how  constrained  and  awkward  was 
his  interview  with  the  sister,  whose  love  he  had 
sought  and  whose  affection  he  now  scorned. 
Hattie,  however,  was  so  troubled  at  the  unac- 
countable disappearance  of  her  sister  that  she 
sitspected  no  wrong,  and  when  all  hopes  of  her 
return  had  passed  away,  she  had  the  horses  put 
in  the  carriage,  and  made  a  round  of  inquiry 


110  Suppressed  Sensations. 


among  her  aristocratic  friends  of  the  South  and 
North  Sides.  The  father  and  Vivian  Denston, 
both  feeling  that  something  dreadful  had  hap- 
pened, went  to  the  bureau  of  a  detective  force 
and  instituted  a  rigid  search.  The  police  were 
notified,  the  most  indefatigable  agents  were  en- 
listed in  the  search,  but  day  after  day  passed, 

and  nothing  was  heard  of  the  missing  Selina. 
*****  * 

In  a  gloomy  old  house,  fronting  on  a  square, 
which,  once  trim  and  highly  cultivated,  looked 
the  more  untidy  and  dilapidated  from  the  neglect 
into  which  it  had  fallen,  in  a  portion  of  the  city 
of  New  York  from  whence  Fashion  had  departed 
up  town  wards,  the  rooms  were  let  out  at  reason- 
able rates  to  the  artistic  and  literary  Bohemians 
who  congregate  in  the  great  metropolis  of  the 
Union. 

Here  the  student  struggling  against  poverty 
arid  want  of  patronage  dreamed  of,  exhibitions 
and  commissions,  and  drew  from  the  models  who 
for  a  dollar  or  two  permitted  their  unadorned 
charms  to  be  portrayed  by  the  artist.  Here  the 
industrious  essayist,  the  plodding  itemizer  and 
the  writers  of  precarious  editorials  or  occasional 
sensations,  burnt  the  midnight  oil,  and  too  fre- 


The  Tell -Tale  Skull.  Ill 

quently  made  night  hideous  by  the  chanting  of 
snatches  of  slang  songs  picked  up  at  the  gardens 
or  music  halls.  It  was  a  strange  but  kindly 
commonwealth,  and  a  pipe  full  of  tobacco,  a 
crayon  or  a  color  was  as  readily  given,  as  freely 
asked  for,  among  the  denizens  of  this  roomy  old 
dwelling. 

There  was  one  room,  however,  which  bore  a 
striking  difference  from  the  rest,  and  it  was  long 
before  any  of  the  inmates  of  the  house  penetrat- 
ed beyond  the  jealously  locked  door.  Evidently 
its  occupant  was  a  hard  working  student,  who 
merely  left  his  room  when  he  had  work 
completed,  and  then,  merely  long  enough  to 
go  down  to  Sarony's,  or  some  other  photog- 
rapher's, with  the  contents  of  a  red  morocco 
portfolio,  neatly  tied,  and  containing  exquis- 
itely finished  portraits  in  water  color.  It  was 
in  this  way  the  young  man  made  his  living, 
but  his  work  was  so  perfect,  his  taste  so  refined, 
that  he  readily  obtained  all,  and  more  than 
all  he  could  do. 

He  was  fair  haired  and  extremely  handsome, 
and  always  dressed  in  a  frock  coat  of  splendid 
fit ;  the  balance  of  his  costume  far  above  the 
usual  style  of  garb  worn  by  struggling  artists, 


112  Suppressed  Sensations. 

both  as  to  quality  and  style.  From  his  beauty 
and  his  reticence  he  was  christened  by  his  house- 
mates the  "  dumb  Apollo."  He  took  no  part  in 
the  bacchanalian  revels  which  too  often  character- 
ized the  house  in  which  he  lived,  and  beyond  a 
walk  in  the  square,  or  a  ride  up  to  the  park  after 
his  day's  work  was  done,  he  seemed  to  care  for 
no  amusement. 

Months  passed  thus,  but  by  degrees  nodding 
acquaintanceships  with  the  better  class  of  room- 
ers were  formed,  and  one  or  two  of  the  more 
talented  young  artists  who  lived  lives  of  indus- 
trious seclusion  were  admitted  into  his  rooms, 
one  of  which  was  used  as  a  studio,  and  the 
other  furnished  in  the  most  fastidious  taste 
as  a  bed-room.  It  was  evident  that  the  mys- 
terious student  did  not  confine  himself  alto- 
gether to  working  for  the  photographers,  for 
many  landscape  sketches  and  beautifully  fin- 
ished miniature  pictures  adorned  his  walls. 
Very  frequently  would  his  visitors  ask  him  to 
accompany  them  to  the  theatre  or  concert  rooms, 
but  these  invitations  were  kindly  though  firmly 
refused. 

On  one  occasion,  however,  New  York  rung  with 
the  praises  of  a  lovely  young  girl  about  whose 


The  Tell -Tale  Skull.  113 

life  and  origin  there  hung  a  strange  mystery,  and 
who.  was  singing  at  a  decent  though  not  very  fash- 
ionable music  hall,  in  one  of  the  most  retired 
streets  of  the  metropolis.  In  this  young  girl  the 
artist  seemed  to  take  a  strange  interest,  and  when 
all  curiosity  was  piqued  by  tl?  3  impossibity  of 
learning  her  story,  he  felt  an  irresistible  desire  to 
see  and  hear  the  beautiful  creature  of  whom  he 
heard  so  much  from  his  companions.  Pressed 
to  go,  he  at  length  consented,  and  in  company 
with  a  student  whose  tastes  and  habits  were 
almost  as  refined  as  his  own,  he,  for  the  first  and 
only  time  in  his  life  ventured  over  the  threshold 
of  a  New  York  Music  Hall. 

The  room  was  crowded.  The  galleries  set  apart 
for  those  who  preferred  lighter  viands  than  the 
beer  and  liquor  served  out  below,  were  adorned 
with  heavy  evergreens  in  large  tubs,  between 
which  were  placed  tables  for  the  refreshments 
which  might  be  required.  At  one  of  these  our 
two  artists  were  seated.  But  little  attention  was 
paid  to  the  first  two  or  three  numbers,  all  anx- 
iously waiting  for  the  appearance  of  the  myste- 
rious lady  whose  original  songs,  pretty  voice 
and  still  prettier  figure,  had  created  so  great 
a  furore. 


114  Suppressed  Sensations. 

At  length,  the  orchestra  commenced  one  of  her 
favorite  airs,  and  she  bounded  like  a  sylph  before 
the  curtain.  She  was  a  brunette  of  glorious 
beauty,  young  and  lithe  as  a  wand,  dressed  in  a 
fancy  Spanish  costume,  which  set  off  the  splen- 
did contour  of  her  bust  and  form  to  perfection. 
She  sang  with  a  pathos  and  a  power  which  elec- 
trified the  audience.  Our  artist,  who  had  during 
the  previous  songs  kept  retired  behind  one  of  the 
evergreens,  was  enchanted,  and  forgetful  of  every- 
thing but  the  music  he  heard,  and  the  gorgeous 
creature  who  was  upon  the  stage,  leaned  forward 
over  the  slight  bannister  which  surrounded  the 
gallery. 

His  hat  was  off,  and  the  crisp  yellow  curls 
which  surrounded  his  head  like  a  glory,  added 
an  almost  supernatural  beauty  to  his  fair  face. 
Many  eyes  were  turned  upwards  to  gaze  upon  a 
young  man  so  singularly  handsome,  when  all  at 
once  a  dark,  elegant  gentleman  rose  from  the 
body  of  the  hall  and  made  rapid  strides  for  the 
gallery.  Pushing  his  way  through  the  crowd 
of  waiters  at  the  entrance,  and  going  down 
the  aisle  between  the  tables,  he  approached 
the  one  at  which  our  artist  friends  were 
seated. 


The  Tell -Tale  Skull.  115 

The  unknown  turned  his  head,  recognized  in  a 
moment  the  party  who  was  hurrying  towards 
them,  and  shouting,  "  It  is  John  Fleming, "  im- 
mediately swooned  away.  It  was  no  longer  a 
secret;  the  golden-haired  artist  was  a  woman,  and 
in  another  instant  was  locked  in  the  embrace  of 
the  gentleman  who  had  hurried  up  on  recogniz- 
ing her.  Of  course  there  was  considerable  ex- 
citement, but,  under  the  powerful  protection  of 
her  lover,  Selina  Smith  in  male  attire  was  con- 
veyed from  the  scene. 

Taking  her  to  one  of  the  leading  hotels  he 
placed  her  in  the  care  of  an  estimable  and 
discreet  lady,  an  acquaintance  of  his  who  was 
boarding  there,  and,  after  confiding  as  much 
of  her  story  to  his  friend  as  was  absolutely 
necessary,  he  retired,  and  waited  until  she 
could  receive  him  in  more  befitting  if  not 
becoming  attire.  It  was  not  long  before  he 
was  summoned  to  her  presence,  and  found 
her  seated  on  a  couch  in  an  elegant  morning 
wrapper  which  had  been  provided  by  his 
friend. 

"Quite  a  metamorphosis  you  see,"  said  the 
lady,  as  she  entered  ;  and  then,  feeling  that  they 
would  have  much  to  say  to  each  other,  which  no 


116  Suppressed  Sensations. 


third  party  could  be  interested  in,  she  retired  to 
another  room. 

' '  You  will  forgive  me,  and  keep  my  secret, 
John,"  she  said,  while  blushes  of  maiden 
modesty  suffused  her  cheeks.  ' '  It  was  for  your 
sake  !  " 

"  My  darling  girl,"  he  replied.  "  How  cruel  of 
you  it  was  thus  to  desert  us  and  keep  us  in 
agony  so  long.  Of  course  I  do  not  know  the 
reasons  for  this  flight,  for  —  for  —  the  curious 
disguise  and  the  queer  place  in  which  I  found 
you.  A  thousand  idle  rumors,  a  hundred  idiotic 
scandals,  have  been  launched,  none  of  which,  I 
feel  certain,  are  true.  I  never  gave  you  up,  when 
week  after  week  passed,  when  your  friends 
mourned  you  as  one  dead.  I  hoped  on,  I  have 
never  rested,  never  ceased  a  moment  in  my 
search.  It  was  the  fame  of  the  Spanish  canta- 
trice  which  led  me  to  that  place  to-night.  I 

thought,  in  my  folly,  that  that  singer  might  be 

/ 

you.  Of  course  I  was  deceived,  but  who  can 
deny  the  fact  that  a  mysterious  Providence 
guided  my  steps  in  that  direction.  And  now,  my 
angel,  my  wife,  my  own,  tell  me  the  cause  and 
the  particulars  of  your  flight,  and  why  you 
chose 'so  strange  an  attire ;  where  you  have  lived, 


The  Tell -Tale  Skull.  117 

and  what  you  have  done  since  the  fatal  night  you 
fled  from  Chicago." 

Selina  opened  her  heart  fully  to  her  lover,  gave 
him  the  story  of  her  persecution,  her  father's 
infatuation  and  strange  commands.  She  then 
inquired  of  her  sister's  condition,  her  father's 
welfare,  and  what  had  become  of  her  tor- 
menter. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  her  lover  replied,  "  that  I  have 
such  bad  news  to  convey.  Your  sister,  almost 
broken-hearted  at  your  loss  —  for  she  has  long 
deemed  you  dead,  and  the  perfidy  of  her  lover, 
still  lives  at  home,  but  visits  nowhere,  and  sees 
no  company.  Vivian  Denston  seems  to  have 
some  mysterious  influence  over  your  father,  and 
I  fear  has  led  him  into  haunts  of  vice,  where 
gambling  for  large  stakes  has  sadly  impaired  a 
once  colossal  fortune.  Bond  after  bond,  security 
after  security,  has,  I  fear,  found  its  way  into  the 
pockets  of  this  man  and  his  abandoned  compan- 
ions, but  his  malign  influence  over  him  seems  as 
strong  as  ever.  What  is  this  tie  \  Do  you  know 
how  or  why  a  man  like  Hiram  Smith  should  be 
the  companion,  the  forced  companion,  I  verily 
believe,  of  a  man  so  notoriously  known  as  a  chief 
among  the  gambling  fraternity  of  Chicago?" 


118  Suppressed  Sensations. 


"I  do  not  know,  but  am  convinced  that  this 
man,  who  would  have  married  me,  holds  some 
dreadful  secret  of  my  poor  father' s,  and  that  he 
dare  not  disobey  him  or  throw  him  over,  but  I 
will  dare  all  to  save  my  father  from  ruin.  I  will 
accompany  you  to  Chicago  and  confront  the  man 
I  hate  and  wrest  from  him  the  secret  he  pos- 
sesses?" 

"Will  you  go  as  my  wife,  Selina  ?  Say  you 
will  be  mine.  You  are  your  own  mistress, 
nobody  dare  control  you,  and  we  will  together 
work  to  save  your  parent  from  this  fiend  in  hu- 
man form  ?  " 

"No,  John,  I  can  not  do  this,  I  can  not  marry 
until  this  fearful  enigma  is  solved.  I  feel  that  it 
is  my  mission  to  attempt  its  solution,  and  any- 
thing, save  one  dreadful  alternative,  that  will 
secure  my  parent  from  the  machinations  of  this 
man,  I  will  do.  Your  honorable  character  is 
well  known,  and  mine  is  safe  in  your  keep- 
ing. I  will  accompany  you  to  Chicago,  and 
together  we  will  see  what  can  be  done  to 
remove  the  baneful  influence  of  the  monster 
from  my  father." 

"Brave  girl,  while  grieving  at  your  decisionr 
I  admire  your  motive,  and  when  we  together  have 


The  Tell -Tale  Skull.  11  £ 

restored  your  father  to  himself,  I  shall  claim  my 
reward." 

"Which  shall  be  yours,"  she  blushingljr 
replied,  and  the  two  then  parted  for  the  night. 

The  following  day  they  started  for  Chicago, 
a  letter  breaking  the  news  having  been  dispatched 
to  the  sister  by  that  night's  mail.  Little  did  they 
think  what  a  welcome  awaited  them.  The- 
letter  arrived  twenty-four  hours  before  the  train 
by  which  they  traveled. 

When  within  some  forty  miles  of  the  city,  the- 
newsboys  cried  the  Chicago  papers  through  the- 
cars,  and,  purchasing  one,  John  Fleming  was  hor- 
rified to  see  among  the  most  prominent  news,  a 
long  account  headed  "Mysterious  murder  or 
suicide  on  the  steps  of  the  Court  House." 

It  was  only  by  the  most  energetic  will-power 
that  he  was  able  to  conceal  his  emotion,  and 
flinging  tLe  paper  out  of  the  car- window,  he- 
carefully  abstained  from  making  any  allusions 
which  could  arouse  the  curiosity  of  his  affianced 
bride.  It  appeared  that  on  receiving  the  intelli- 
gence of  the  recovery  of  his  daughter,  long^ 
supposed  dead,  the  infatuated  man  had  commu- 
nicated the  intelligence  to  Denston,  whose 
inflammable  nature,  aroused  by  the  intelligence, 


120  Suppressed  Sensations. 

at  once  determined  on  a  cruel  revenge,  and  de- 
manded of  the  poor  old  man  the  immediate  con- 
summation of  their  nuptials  upon  her  return. 

This  was  the  last  straw.  Weakened  mentally 
by  long  suffering,  ruined  in  purse  by  the  constant 
raids  made  upon  it  under  threats  of  denounce- 
ment ;  the  grinning  evidence  of  an  undiscovered 
and  unpunished  crime  forever  beneath  his  eyes, 
he  could  bear  up  no  longer.  Writing  a  full  con- 
fession of  the  crime  he  had  committed,  and  which 
had  indeed,  been  a  scorpion  whip  to  him,  he  left 
it  on  his  escritoire,  kissed  his  remaining  daugh- 
ter with  a  kinder  fervor  than  usual,  and  pro- 
ceeding at  midnight  to  the  Douglas  Monument, 
he  had  placed  a  pistol  to  his  head  and  blown  out 
his  brains. 

The  secret  of  the  skull  was  at  length  revealed. 
Some  thirty  years  before,  he  had  entered  into 
speculations  in  the  canals  at  Lockport,  in  con- 
junction with  a  friend,  who  placed  implicit  con- 
fidence in  his  honor.  By  his  friend's  death,  an 
immense  sum  of  money  and  real  estate,  rapidly 
increasing  in  value,  would  be  his  alone.  He 
struggled  against  temptation,  but  mammon  was 
too  strong  for  him,  and,  in  a  moment  of  utter 
abandonment  to  the  evil  influence,  he  became  a 


The  Tell -Tale  Skull.  121 


murderer,  hiding  the  victim  of  his  crime  in  the 
grove  at  the  bottom  of  the  garden.  The  myste- 
rious disappearance  caused  much  comment  at 
the  time,  but  Smith  escaped  suspicion.  He  be- 
came the  possessor  of  the  wealth  of  his  friend 
by  a  false  will,  and  thought  all  was  safe.  Many 
years  after,  while  digging  the  foundation  for  a 
new  house  which  Vivian  Denston  was  intending 
to  build,  on  property  purchased  from  the  specu- 
lator who  transferred  the  Toledo  and  Wabash. 
shares  to  Hiram  Smith,  a  skeleton  was  found. 
Denston  was  notified,  and  examining  the  skull, 
found  the  mark  of  the  pistol  shot.  The  disap- 
pearance of  the  former  partner,  the  suddenly 
acquired  wealth,  the  peculiar  will,  and  the  own- 
ership of  the  property,  led  him  to  make  his  own 
conclusions,  which  were  verified  by  the  terror  of 
Smith  upon  beholding  the  skull.  All  these 
things  were  made  known  at  the  time  of  the  sui 
cide,  but  were  carefully  suppressed,  and  this  is 
the  first  time  the  mystery  of  the  Court  House 
suicide  has  been  cleared  up. 

We  must  pass  over  the  grief  of  the  children, 
the  horror  they  felt  at  the  discovery  of  their 
father's  turpitude,  and  the  excitement  caused  by 
the  occurrence  at  the  time.  It  is  sufficient  to  say> 


122 


Suppressed  Sensations. 


that  John  Fleming  is  to-day  the  honored  husband 
of  the  handsomest  blonde  in  Chicago  ;  the  elder 
sister  living  with  them  unmarried  and  resigned  ; 
while  the  author  of  so  much  misery,  the  elegant 
Vivian  Denston,  is  serving  out  a  long  term  of 
imprisonment  at  Joliet  for  a  participation  in  one 
of  the  most  notorious  forgeries  which  has  aston- 
ished the  commercial  world  of  America  since  the 
formation  of  the  Union. 


LEAF    VI. 


s  a  queer 

case  down  stairs,"  said 
Captain  Simon  O'Don- 
l,  chief  of  the  First 
Precinct  Chicago  Po- 
lice, to  the  writer,  as 
entered  the  Har- 
iri son  Street  Station 
one    evening,   in 
pursuit   of    such 
iL_   news   as    falls 
Pteto  the  prov- 
ince of   a    night 
reporter    on  a  great 
morning  daily.     "It's 
a   very   queer    case    in- 
deed,"   he    continued,   "and  I 
must  say  I  think  the  poor  girl's  story  is  true." 

(123) 


124  Suppressed  Sensations. 

Now  queer  cases  are  so  continually  occurring, 
which  take  on  the  most  prosaic  of  forms  when 
subjected  to  the  light  of  scrutiny,  that  the  burly 
Captain's  announcement  met  only  an  indifferent 
reception,  and,  after  collecting  from  the  station- 
keeper  whatever  of  interest  had  come  within  the 
limits  of  his  observation,  I  was  about  departing, 
when  the  turnkey  met  me  on  the  outer  stairs, 
and  remarked,  "Of  course  you've  been  below  to 
see  that  poor  Scotch  lassie  and  hear  her  story  ?  " 

"  No.     Is  it  worth  the  listening  to  ? " 

"Come  and  see." 

And  thus  saying,  the  keeper  of  the  keys  led 
the  way  to  the  basement  floor,  which  was  his 
peculiar  domain. 

I  wonder  if  one  reputable  citizen  in  a  thou- 
sand has  the  remotest  idea  regarding  the  cell 
portion  of  a  city  prison,  or  gives  a  thought 
to  the  possibility  of  reform  in  the  appointments 
of  such  a  place.  To  be  sure,  it  is  neither  a 
Marshalsea  nor  a  Newgate.  Its  walls  are  clean 
and  sweet  as  water  and  whitewash  can  make 
them.  Its  temperature  is  regulated  by  steam 
and  thermometer.  Its  guardians  are  men  of 
integrity  and  kindly  purpose.  Yet  the  cells, 
ranged  in  line,  with  their  barred  fronts,  their 


Janet  and  Jamie.  125 


stone  floors,  their  one  wooden  bench,  and  their 
noisome  insect  inmates,  are  anything  but  at- 
tractive for  those  not  born  to  the  dungeon. 
Great  rats,  grown  fat  and  foul,  wander  about 
with  a  fearlessness  bred  of  familiarity  ;  nnd 
drunken  prisoners,  reckless  through  years  of  sin 
and  degradation,  fill  in  the  hours  with  loud- 
voiced  ribaldry. 

As  the  first  huge  door  opened  to  admit  us,  a 
shriek  rang  out  on  the  air,  so  despairing,  so 
awful  in  the  intensity  of  its  fear,  that  we  invol- 
untarily paused. 

"  What  is  that «" 

"Oh,  it's  a  fellow  brought  down  here  awhile 
ago  to  sober  up.  I  should  judge  from  the  noise 
he  makes  that  he  was  crossing  the  frontier  into 
the  land  of  delirium  tremens.  But  come  on,  and 
never  mind  him  now.  If  he  is  suffering,  he  has 
himself  alone  to  blame." 

So  the  turnkey  strode  ahead  down  the  second 
corridor  to  where  stood  a  cell  with  wide  open 
portal,    so    situated    as    to    catch    every    breeze , 
wafted  in  through  the  window  from  the  hot  July 
night. 

"Miss  Ross,"  he  said — and  it  was  wonderful 
to  note  how  his  voice  of  harsh  command  toned 


126  Suppressed  Sensations. 


down  to  gentlest  courtesy—" here  is  a  gentleman 
who  would  like  to  hear  whatever  you  may  choose 
to  tell  him,  and  who,  I  have  no  doubt,  will  be 
glad  to  serve  you  by  every  means  in  his  power." 

At  this  there  came  from  out  the  darkness  of 
the  place  a  woman  whose  large  gray  eyes  were 
dominated  by  an  eager,  questioning  look,  which 
often  gave  place  to  an  expression  of  unutterable, 
hopeless  sadness.  A  woman  ?  As  she  reached 
the  full  glare  of  the  gas,  she  seemed  hardly  more 
than  a  child — a  wee  thing  to  be  taken  home  by 
loving  parents  and  cared  for  and  petted. 
-But  for  all  that  there  was  something  in  her 
face  of  dignity  and  loveliness  which  fascinated, 
and  drew  off  all  obtrusive  attention  from  her 
coarse  and  scanty  garments.  She  seemed  one  who 
had  arrived  at  queenhood  through  suffering,  and 
the  crown  she  wore  was  a  glorious  coil  of  auburn 
hair,  which  shimmered  in  the  light  as  the  sea 
glints  in  the  sunshine. 

"Can  you  help  me  to  find  my  Jamie?"  she 
asked,  in  a  sweet  contralto  voice. 

"  Who  is  your  Jamie  ?"  I  queried. 

"  Perhaps  it  would  be  as  well,  sir,  to  tell  you 
thp  whole  story,  and  then  you  may  be  able  to 
advise  me  better.  You  see,  sir,  I  am  from  the 


Janet  and  Jamie.  127 

old  Scotch  cathedral  town  of  Elgin,  away  off 
among  the  Morayshire  hills,  and  Jamie  and  me 
were  born  in  High  street,  only  a  short  distance 
from  each  other.  He  was  older  than  I,  and  very 
clever.  His  father  wanted  him  to  clerk  in  a  dra- 
per's shop,  but  he  didn't  care  to  be  a  tradesman 
and  ran  away  from  home.  He  came  back  a 
•couple  of  years  ago  from  Aberdeen,  where  he  had 
been  working  in  a  solicitor's  office.  By  this  time 
he  was  of  age,  and  his  visit  was  that  he  might 
see  me. 

' '  He  told  me  what  I  already  knew.  He  said 
he  loved  me  and  wished  me  to  marry  him,  but 
that  when  I  was  his  wife,  he  couldn't  bear  to 
have  me  work  and  be  poor  all  my  life,  so  he  had 
come  for  my  promise,  and  then  he  was  going 
away  to  America,  where  a  willing  man  could  be 
and  do  something.  Ah  me  !  I  was  proud  and 
happy,  and  yet  so  sorry,  for  you  see  I  didn't 
want  to  let  him  go  so  far  away.  But  it  all  seemed 
for  the  best,  and  after  we  had  plighted  our  troth, 
he  strode  off  down  the  street,  to  catch  the  Glas- 
gow train.  It  was  just  at  sunset,  and  I  can 
almost  see  him  yet — so  tall,  so  manly,  so  bright, 
so  bonny. 

"Well,  sir,"  she  continued,   "he  sailed  as  he 


128  Suppressed  Sensations. 


said  he  should,  and  then  the  letters  began 
to  reach  me.  First  he  wrote  from  New  York 
about  the  great  busy  land  in  which  he  found 
himself,  and  then  there  followed  word  that  he 
had  decided  to  make  Chicago  his  home,  because 
some  friends  there  were  going  to  help  him 
finish  his  studies,  and  get  to  be  what  you 
call  a  lawyer.  About  two  months  ago  he  sent 
me  £50,  and  said  I  should  come  to  him ; 
that  he  was  doing  well  ;  and  that  there  was 
no  reason  why  we  should  wait  longer.  So  I 
got  ready,  bade  dear  old  Elgin  good  ^bye,  and 
reached  here  three  weeks  ago. 

"  How  glad  I  was  when  they  said  the  train 
would  be  in  Chicago  in  an  hour  !  for  you  see  I 
thought  Jamie  would  be  waiting  for  me  at  the 
station.  But  he  wasn't.  So  I  had  to  go  to  a  ho- 
tel all  by  myself,  and  the  next  morning  I  went  to 
the  place  where  he  was  working  for  some  attor- 
neys. What  a  cruel  lie  they  told  me !  They  said 
Jamie  had  lost  his  place  because  he  drank  too 
much.  I  came  away  from  there  sick  at  heart.  I 
advertised  in  the  papers  for  him,  and  went  to  all 
the  lawyers'  offices,  but  no  one  knew  where  he 
was. 

"  Then  a  few  days  ago  my  money  gave  out,  and 


Janet  and  Jamie.  129 

the  innkeeper  held  my  things  for  board,  and 
turned  me  from  his  house.  To-night  I  was  al- 
most starving,  and  a  kind  policeman  brought  me 
here.  They  are  very  good,  but  it's  a  horrid  place, 
iind  those  men  they  have  locked  up  say  such 
wicked  words  that  I'  ve  been  sitting  away  back 
in  the  dark  to  try  and  not  hear  them.  Do  you 
think,"  she  wistfully  closed,  "that  you  can  help 
me  to  find  my  Jamie,  for  you  know  I  feel  sure 
lie  is  looking  for  me  as  eagerly  as  I  am  for  him  ?" 

All  the  while  the  poor  girl  had  been  telling  of 
her  love  and  loyalty,  demoniac  yells  had  con- 
tinued to  issue  from  the  cell  of  the  rum  maniac, 
and  toward  the  last,  the  turnkey  had  gone  away 
to  call  a  physician,  who  might  do  something  for 
the  agonized  sufferer.  He  now  returned,  and 
said: 

"Perhaps  there'll  be  another  item  for  you 
before  morning.  That  crazy  manr  the  doc- 
tor says,  has  the  worst  case  of  '  snakes '  he 
ever  saw,  and  can't  last  many  hours  longer. 
Seems  to  be  a  nice  young  fellow,  too,  for 
«very  little  while  when  his  senses  kind  o' 
come  back  to  him,  he  is  calling  for  Janet  —  a 
sweetheart  of  his,  I  suppose,  or  something  of 
that  sort." 


Janet  and  Jamie.  131 

"Why,  how  strange!"  exclaimed  the  little 
Scotch  lady  ;  "my  name  is  Janet." 

The  turnkey  started.     "  By  Jove  !  "  he  inut 
tered  to  himself,   "I never  thought  of  that,"  and 
he  hurried  away  up  stairs  to  the  station-keeper's 
office.     He  came  back  in  a  moment  very  quietly, 
and  said,  with  a  pitying  look  : 

"  Miss  Ross,  what  is  the  full  name  of  the  gen- 
tleman you  wish  to  find  \  " 

"  James  Gordon  Campbell,"  she  replied. 

"All  right,"  he  responded,  with  a  forced 
attempt  at  cheerfulness.  "  Now  you  take  a 
little  -rest  while  I  show  this  gentleman  about, 
and  then  we  will  decide  what  we  can  do  for 
you." 

As  she  tripped  back  into  her  dismal  abiding 
place,  the  turnkey  whispered  in  my  ear — 

"  Great  God  !  what  shall  we  do  ?  That  poor 
little  grTs  lover  is  the  man  with  the  tre- 
mens  ! "  * 

"  Is  there  any  chance  that  he  will  recover  ?" 

"Not  the  slightest  in  the  world.  He's  a 
nervous  wreck,  and  may  go  to  pieces  at  any 
moment." 

"Does  the  doctor  think  he  will  be  rational 
before  he  dies  ?  " 


132  Suppressed  Sensations. 

"  Yes,  lie  says  that  when  exhaustion  takes 
the  place  of  delirium  the  rnan  may  have  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  of  sanity,  but  that  such 
a  symptom  is  the  immediate  precursor  of 
death." 

"Well,  then,  watch  him  closely,  and  wait 
till  that  moment  arrives.  Janet  Ross  must 
never  know  the  man  she  worships  is  dy- 
ing of  drink.  So  tell  me  when  it  comes  to 
the  last,  and  leave  what  remains  to  be  done 
to  me." 

With  these  words  I  went  up  stairs  and  out  in 
front  of  the  frowning  building,  which  had  seen 
the  burial  of  so  many  high  hopes,  but  in  all  its 
existence  no  sadder  tragedy  than  this.  The 
clouds  which  had  flitted  across  the  moon  and 
stars  ever  since  sundown,  now  gathered  in  great 
black  masses,  from  out  which  darted  angry 
lightnings.  The  thunder  rolled  heavily  above 
the  subdued  murmurs  of  a'  sleeping  city, 
and  big  drops  began  to  fall  in  presage  of  a 
storm. 

A  hand  touched  me  lightly  on  the  shoulder, 
and  a  voice  said  simply,  "  Come."  I  understood, 
and  followed. 

Once  more  we  entered  the  gloomy,  iron-bound 


Janet  and  Jamie.  133 


portals  ;  but  already  there  was  a  change.  A  sol- 
emn hush  had  succeeded  the  noisy  outbreaks  of 
an  hour  before.  A  little  group  of  men  were  gath- 
ered in  front  of  an  open  cell.  Among  their 
number  was  a  physician  who  was  kneeling 
above  a  prostrate  form,  with  something  more 
than  professional  gravity  and  interest  in  his 
air. 

The  patient  who  was  receiving  his  attention  lay 
on  his  back  on  the  floor,  a  blanket  under  his 
head,  and  the  bare  stones  his  couch.  There  was  no 
sign  of  delirium  about  him  now,  and  as  he  threw 
back  his  damp,  blonde  locks,  or  absently  twitched 
at  his  tawny  mustache,  his  dark  blue  eyes 
seemed  to  be  gazing  far  away  beyond  the 
present  into  a  past  li'lled  with  tender  recol- 
lections. 

"Can  we  do  anything  for  you,  my  poor 
fellow?"  asked  one  from  among  the  number 
standing  about. 

"Nothing,-'  came  the  reply,  "I  only  long 
for  the  impossible.  I  want  to  see  the  dear 
old  town,  and  wander  among  the  heather 
blooms  again  with  Janet.  Poor  girl !  If  I 
could  only  tell  her  all,  and  knew  that  she 
ionrave  me!" 


134  Suppressed  Sejisations. 

The  turnkey  looked  at  me.  ''Bring  her  here,'* 
he  whispered.  I  went,  and  found  the  wanderer 
seated  as  before  in  her  chosen  dark  corner, 
waiting. 

"You  have  come  back,"  she  cried,  stepping 
out  into  the  light.  "  I  felt  sure  you  would  keep 
your  word.  Can  you  tell  me  anything  of  Jamie, 
yet?" 

"Yes,  much,"  I  answered,  "  but  first  promise: 
me  to  summon  all  your  courage  and  fortitude,  for 
while  you  shall  see  Jamie,  it  will  be  only  for  a. 
short,  very  short  time." 

The  girl's  face  grew  white,  and  her  eyes  filled 
with  tears.  "  Yes,  yes,"  she  cried,  "  I  will  be 
brave,  only  tell  me  —  is  he  sick,  or  hurt,  or  any- 
thing ?  and  can  I  go  to  him  ? " 

"  Yes,"  and  my  lips  framed  a  lie  which  wa& 
merciful.  "We  found  him  out  of  work  and 
dying  in  a  noisome  lodging  house.  His  only 
thought  is  for  you,  and  we  have  brought  him 
here  that  you  may  be  together.  Come." 

Janet  staggered  back  and  pressed  her  little 
hand  to  her  heart.  She  seemed  about  to  faint, 
and  then  with  desperate  energy  rallied  and 
said:  "Take  me  to  him  quick,  and  God 
help  me  !  " 


Janet  and  Jamie.  135 


As  we  approached,  the  group  of  lookers-ori 
fell  back.  Jamie  was  lying  as  before,  but  his 
senses  were  already  wandering,  and  his  only  cry 
was,  "  Janet,  where  are  you,  my  darling  ?  " 

She  stepped  to  his  side,  and  leaning  over,  put 
one  cool  soft  hand  on  his  fevered  brow.  "  Here 
I  am,  Jamie." 

The  closed  eyes  opened,  and  the  vagrant 
mind  rallied  to  this  supreme  call  of  love.  "  I 
am  dying,  dear,"  he  murmured,  "and  all 
our  dreams  and  plans  can  never  come  to 
pass." 

"It  is  the  dear  Lord's  will,"  Janet  whispered, 
with  something  of  the  old  Scotch  fatalism,  "  and 
we  must  submit.  There  is  nothing  else  to  do,  but 
while  you  live,  we  will  be  together,"  and  sitting 
down  she  gently  drew  his  head  into  her  lap.  He 
breathed  a  sigh  of  relief,  arid  lay  silent  for  a 
moment. 

"Do  you  remember,  Janet,"  he  finally  said, 
"those  songs  we  sang  together  in  auld  lang 
syne?  Well,  do  you  know  I  can't  live  but  a 
little  while,  and  it  seems  I  should  die  happier  if 
the  last  sound  I  heard  was  your  voice  as  I  used 
to  hear  it  when  we  sat  side  by  side  to  see  the  sun 
go  down  below  the  hills." 


136  Suppressed  Sensations. 


The  maiden  choked  back  a  rising  sob  with 
a  mighty  effort,  and  began  in  a  low,  rich 
contralto,  that  sweet,  sad  ballad  of  Highland 
Mary  : 

"  Ye  banks,  and  braes,  and  streams  around 

The  castle  of  Montgomery, 
Green  be  your  fields  and  fair  your  flowers, 

Your  waters  never  drumlie. 
There  summer  first  unfolds  her  robe, 

And  there  the  longest  tarry, 
For  there  I  took  the  last  farewell 

Of  my  sweet  Highland  Mary. 

*'  With  many  a  vow  and  locked  embrace, 

Our  parting  was  full  tender, 
And  pledging  oft  to  meet  again, 

We  tore  ourselves  asunder. 
But,  Oh !  fell  death's  untimely  frost, 

That  nipped  my  flower  so  early ! 
How  green's  the  sod,  and  cold  the  clay 
That  wraps  my  Highland  Mary." 

The  tones  echoed  out  through  the  corridor,  un- 
ialtering,  pure,  yet  hopeless,  and  more  than  one 
listener  turned  away  to  hide  an  unaccustomed 
tear.  The  singer  closed  the  second  verse,  when 
Jamie  raised  himself  with  a  last  convulsive  effort, 
threw  his  arms  about  her  neck,  kissed  her,  and 


Janet  and  Jamie.  137 


gasping    "Good  bye,    my  love,"    fell    back    a 
corpse. 

Then  the  poor  heart,  so  sorely  and  suddenly 
overburdened,  gave  way,  and  a  rain  of  tears 
showered  the  face  of  the  dead.  We  left  her 
alone  with  her  grief,  but  before  we  departed,  a 
small  purse  was  deposited  with  the  station- 
keeper  for  her  benefit. 

*  *  •*  *  *  # 

Next  day  found  me  again  at  the  station. 

"Where  is  the  little  Scotch  lassie?"  I 
asked. 

"  At  the  Morgue." 

"  What !  " 

"Fact.  We  gave  her  that  money  this  morn- 
ing, and  she  thanked  us  pretty  as  could  be.  She 
was  quiet,  but  with  the  strangest  fixed  look  on 
her  features  you  ever  saw.  About  two  hours  ago 
a  policeman  of  the  day  squad  came  in  and  report- 
ed a  suicide  just  found  in  the  lake  at  the  foot  of 
Twelfth  street.  I  went  and  took  a  look  at  the 
body.  It  was  Janet  Ross." 

"  And  the  money  \ " 

"She'd  used  it  to  pay  what  she  owed  that, 
infernal  hotel  keeper  who  put  her  oat." 


138 


Suppressed  Sensations. 


Peeping  above  the  rank,  uncared-for  grass  of 
summer,  a  gravestone  at  Graceland  bears  the  in- 
scription : 


JANET  AND  JAMIE. 


And  that  is  all. 


LEAF    VII. 


OST    of    the 
representatives 
of  the  numer- 
ous nationali- 
ties congrega- 
ted   in    this 
most  cosmopoli- 
tan of  Western 
cities,  naturally, 
and  of   their  own 
choice,    gravitate 
around  separate  and 
almost  distinct  centres, 
and  although,  of  course, 
the  native  element  is  everywhere 
represented,  localities    may    be 
found,  and,  indeed,  are  well  denned, 
^  in  which  the  large  majority  of  the 
residents  are  children  of  adoption 
and  not  "to  the  manor  born." 

(139) 


140  Suppressed  Sensations. 

Thus  the  North  Side  is  largely  German  ;  the 
explorer  of  Halsted  street  will  find  the  Hibernian 
element  predominating  largely  as  he  travels 
south  ;  and  the  traveler  by  a  Milwaukee  avenue 
car  passes  through  a  couple  of  miles  of  territory 
in  which  a  large  majority  of  the  residents  are  of 
Scandinavian  birth.  South  Canal  street  and 
Canalport  avenue  are  so  distinctively  Bohemian 
in  their  character  that  this  quarter  is  popularly 
known  as  "Bohemia."  At  the  foot  of  Indiana 
avenue,  between  Twelfth  and  Fourteenth  streets, 
is  a  closely-packed  colony  of  Italians,  while 
French,  Swedish  and  other  foreign-born  citizens 
abound  in  other  districts. 

The  scene  of  this  brief  story,  one  of  the  most 
startling  and  strange  that  ever  came  under  the 
notice  of  the  writer,  is  laid  in  the  Polish  colony 
in  the  northwestern  part  of  the  city,  in  the  vicin- 
ity of  Elston  road.  Possibly  a  condition  of 
things  to  be  found  nowhere  else  in  the  Union 
exists  here.  The  people  are  chiefly  of  the  lower 
orders  from  Warsaw,  Cracow,  and  the  divisions 
of  Czersko  and  Sandonura.  Bred  up  in  almost 
total  ignorance,  and  looking  upon  their  priests  as 
their  only  governors,  they  are  for  the  most  part 
bigoted  and  superstitious.  At  the  same  time 


The  Witness  from  the  Dead.  141 


they  are  industrious  and  economical.  Their 
affairs,  both  spiritual  and  temporal,  are  managed 
almost  exclusively  by  their  priests,  who  carry  on 
their  correspondence,  superintend  the  investment 
of  their  savings,  examine  into  the  titles  of  the 
homesteads  they  acquire,  and  forward  money  for 
them  to  their  relatives  and  friends  on  the  banks 
of  the  Weisel  or  Vistula. 

That  popular  belief  in  the  existence  of  ghosts 
and  other  apparitions,  which  with  the  modern 
American  and  his  advanced  theories  has  become 
almost  a  thing  of  the  past  among  the  native  born, 
still  remains  strongly  fixed  in  the  minds  of  the 
Polish  settlers.  That  such  things  really  are,  I 
would  be  the  last  to  declare,  yet  in  the  face  of 
the  remarkable  'case  which  I  have  to  narrate, 
and  which  came  under  my  personal  observance, 
I  can  not  overlook  the  possibilities.  Expo- 
nents of  spiritualism  and  correlative  beliefs  may 
find  in  these,  in  electro-biology  or  in  physic- 
force,  mesmerism  or  some  one  of  half  a  dozen 
"isms,"  an  explanation  which  may  satisfy 
them.  I  can  not  explain,  and  it  is  simply  my 
task  to  record  the  facts  as  they  were  brought 
to  my  notice.  They  are  vouched  for  by 
credible  witnesses,  some  of  them  gentlemen 


to 


142  Suppressed  Sensations. 

of   much  more  than  ordinary  intelligence  and 
ability. 

Bernhard  Rubas,  by  trade  a  striker  in  a  black- 
smith's shop,  was  a  man  of  massive  build,  drunken 
and  quarrelsome  in  his  habits,  and  the  terror  of 
the  neighborhood  in  which  he  lived.  The  loose- 
ness of  his  life  and  his  evil  disposition  had  made 
him  a  scandal  and  a  reproach,  and  it  was  cur- 
rently reported  that  he  feared  neither  Grod,  man, 
nor  the  devil.  For  several  years  prior  to  August, 
1875,  his  wife  had  been  ailing,  scarcely  able  to 
drag  her  weary  feet  day  by  day  to  the  mills  with 
the  little  tin  can  containing  her  husband' s  lunch, 
and  too  much  of  an  invalid  to  accompany  him 
to  the  saloon  or  beer-garden  in  which  he  nightly 
spent  the  most  of  his  hard  earnings. 

As  her  malady  increased,  the  poor  woman  was 
more  and  more  neglected  by  her  brutal  husband, 
and  she  was  indebted  to  the  care  and  kindness  of 
a  widow  of  her  own  nationality,  whose  husband 
met  his  death  by  the  explosion  of  a  mould,  for 
what  few  small  comforts  she  enjoyed.  Her  hus- 
band, while  neglecting  her,  had,  it  appeared, 
formed  an  intimacy  with  a  woman  of  somewhat 
notorious  character,  a  "squatter"  on  some  un- 
occupied land  near  the  Rolling  Mills,  where  she 


The  Witness  from  the  Dead.  143 


obtained  a  living  by  managing  a  garden  patch, 
which  she  had  herself  fenced  in,  and  by  keeping 
a  cow,  some  chickens,  and  other  farm  animals. 
In  fact  Rubas  was  more  frequently  to  be  found, 
when  not  at  the  beer-garden,  in  the  company  of 
this  person,  a  congenial  associate  for  a  man  of 
such  habits  and  temper. 

One  morning  when  the  poor  widow  before  men- 
tioned came  in  about  the  usual  hour  to  visit  her 
sick  friend,  she  found,  to  her  intense  astonish- 
ment, the  house  deserted  entirely.  On  the  pre- 
vious afternoon  she  had  left  Mrs.  Rubas  very  ill 
in  bed,  and  it  seemed  scarcely  credible  that  she 
should  have  been  able  to  leave  her  couch.  The 
bed  had  been  occupied  but  the  sheets  were  cold, 
there  was  no  fire  in  the  stove,  and  portions  of  the 
woman's  apparel  were  lying  on  the  chair  by  the 
bedside  as  usual.  The  widow  inquired  among 
the  neighbors,  but  none  of  them  had  seen  aught 
of  Terena  Rubas.  It  should  be  stated  that  the 
cottage  occupied  by  the  ill-assorted  couple  stood. 
in  a  somewhat  retired  position,  and  that  the 
nearest  inhabited  house  was  distant  from  it  at 
least  one  hundred  yards. 

The  widow  sought  next  the  man  Rubas,  whom 
she  found  with  his  sleeves  rolled  up  over  the 


144  Suppressed  Sensations. 

elbows  of  his  brawny  arms,  and  hard  at  work. 
Leaning  upon  the  sledge-hammer  with  which  he 
was  busied,  the  man  declared,  with  a  great  oath, 
that  he  neither  knew  nor  cared  what  had  become 
of  his  wife.  There  were  few  to  interest  them- 
selves to  any  great  extent  in  regard  to  the  wel- 
fare of  the  poor  patient  creature  who  had  so  long 
borne  the  brutality  of  her  so-called  protector,  but 
her  disappearance  caused  some  talk  in  the  neigh- 
borhood. 

Before,  however,  the  story  had  time  to  crystal- 
lize into  suspicion  and  doubt,  all  surmises  were 
set  at  rest.  On  the  evening  of  the  same  day  a 
workman  employed  on  the  excavations  in  Lincoln 
Park  discovered  the  dead  body  of  the  woman 
lying  face  downward  in  a  pond  near  the  lake 
shore.  The  depth  of  the  water  was  not  more 
than  three  feet,  and  the  most  natural  hypothesis 
was,  that  the  poor  woman,  tired  of  the  constant 
abuse  to  which  she  had  been  subjected,  had 
decided  to  end  all  her  troubles  at  once  by 
suicide. 

An  inquest  was  held,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
and,  without  much  investigation,  beyond  ascer- 
taining the  fact  that  the  woman  lived  unhappily 
with  her  husband,  a  verdict  of  "  suicide  by 


The  Witness  from  the  Dead.  145 


drowning"  was  returned.  There  were  not  want- 
ing at  the  time  many  who  argued  that  the  hus- 
band was  morally  to  blame  for  the  death  of  his 
maltreated  wife,  and  that  he  had  driven  her  to 
self-murder  by  his  infernal  brutality,  but  it  did 
not  occur  to  any  one  to  impute  to  him  the  actual 
commission  of  murder.  The  body  was  handed 
over  to  the  husband  for  burial,  and  was  decently 
though  plainly  interred  in  the  Polish  Catholic 
Cemetery,  although  not  in  consecrated  ground. 
The  husband  followed  the  remains  to  the  grave- 
yard, the  only  other  attendant  being  the  Pol- 
ish widow,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  grave 
closed  on  all  that  was  mortal  of  poor  Terena 
Rubas. 

The  death  of  his  wife  seemed  in  no  way  to 
act  as  a  warning  to  Bernhard.  He  behaved 
fairly  well  on  the  day  of  the  inquest  and 
the  funeral,  but  on  returning  from  the  latter 
in  the  evening,  started  straightway  for  a  sa- 
loon, and  long  before  midnight  had  drank 
himself  into  a  state  of  complete  intoxication. 
He  now  made  no  secret  of  his  connection  with 
the  woman  before  referred  to,  and  actually 
sold  his  homestead  and  removed  his  furniture 
to  her  house. 


146  Suppressed  Sensations. 

Terena's  friend,  the  poor  widow  who  had 
so  carefully  tended  her  while  alive,  mourned 
deeply,  and  felt  almost  tempted  to  question 
the  over-ruling  power  of  Providence,  as  she 
thought  of  her  sufferings  and  death,  while  the 
brutal  husband  reveled  in  health  and  indulged 
to  the  full  in  his  career  of  profligacy  and  dis- 
sipation. 

And  now  comes  the  strangest  part  of  this 
history,  which,  if  it  had  not  been  sworn  to 
in  court  before  a  judge,  and  corroborated  by 
still  more  mysterious  circumstances,  would  be 
looked  upon  as  too  romantic  to  deserve  for  a 
moment  the  consideration  of  the  intelligent 
reader. 

One  evening,  a  few  months  after  the  death  of 
Mrs.  Rubas,  the  widow  was  sitting  on  a  bench 
in  front  of  her  cottage,  a  retired  one  near  to 
Clybourne  place,  when  she  heard  footsteps 
approaching,  and,  turning  her  head,  saw  Terena 
Rubas  by  her  side.  The  sweetness,  mildness, 
and  naturalness  of  her  appearance  completely 
overmastered  that  terror  which  it  would  be 
thought  such  an  apparition  would  have  occa- 
sioned, and,  instead  of  being  horrified,  the  widow 
was  really  rejoiced  to  see  her.  She  was  dressed 


148  Suppressed  Sensations. 

in  her  habit  as  she  lived,  and  there  was  nothing 
ghostly  or  shadow-like  in  her  appearance.  Ac- 
cording to  the  sworn  testimony  of  the  widow  aa 
taken  before  a  Notary  Public,  and  afterwards 
repeated  in  the  private  room  of  Judge  -  -  to 
that  estimable  jurist,  the  following  conversation 
then  took  place : 

"The  Saints  in  Heaven  preserve  us  !  Terena,  is 
that  you  ?  Where  have  you  been  ?  We  all 
thought  it  was  your  body  they  found  in  the  pond 
at  Lincoln  Park." 

"And  who  did  you  think  put  me  there  ?" 
"We  thought  you  had  drowned  yourself." 
"  How  could  you  do  me  such  an  injustice  ? " 
"  What  could  I  do  ;  what  could  I  say  ;  what 
could    I    think  ?    But  where    have    you   been, 
Terena?" 

"  I  have  been  on  a  long,  long  journey." 
"But    why    did   you  go  without  letting  me 
know  ?    You   know   I   was  always  a  friend  of 
yours." 

"  I  was  hurried  away,  and  had  no  time." 
"  But  you  were  so  ill.     How  could  you  get 
away?" 

"  I  am  better  now.  I  never  was  so  well  in  my 
life,  not  even  when,  a  light-hearted  girl,  I  danced 


The  Witness  from  the  Dead. 


at  home  by  the  banks  of  the  dear  old  Vistula. 
My  husband  cured  me." 

"What,  your  husband?  Why,  how  did  he 
cure  you  ?" 

"With  a.  bottle." 

"Why  didn't  he  tell  me«  I  don't  under- 
stand it  at  all.  But  where  have  you  been, 
Terena  r«" 

"I  have  been  on  a  journey  to  a  strange  place. 
But  you  know  nothing  of  it.  You  only  know 
that  dreadful  place  in  the  Park,  where  I  rested 
the  first  night,  and  a  cold,  damp  place  it 
was." 

"Heaven  help  me!  why  that  was  the  pond 
where  they  found  what  they  said  was  your 
body.  But  tell  me,  Terena,  are  you  really  not 
dead?" 

"How  can  you  ask  suck  a  question?  Do 
you  not  see  me  alive  and  well,  and  happy  ?  Oh, 
so  happy  !  " 

"  I  know  and  believe  that  the  soul  cannot  die. 
But  was  it  not  your  body  that  was  found  in  Lin- 
coln Park,  and  that  the  Coroner's  Jury  sat 
upon?" 

"You  are  right,  but  1  am  come  again  for 
your  sake,  that  you  should  not  think  hardly 


150  Suppressed  Sensations. 


of  me.  How  could  you  believe  I  would  kill 
myself?  My  husband  knocked  me  down  with 
a  blow  from  a  bottle  on  the  back  of  my  head, 
fracturing  my  skull.  He  then  put  my  body 
into  an  old  sack  and  carried  it  to  the  Park, 
watched  his  opportunity,  and  threw  it  into  the 
pond." 

The  strain  upon  the  widow's  nerves  was  too 
great  for  endurance.  She  fainted,  and  when  she 
returned  to  consciousness,  the  apparition,  or 
whatever  it  was,  had  disappeared.  The  truthful- 
ness, the  reality,  the  importance  of  what  she  had 
seen  and  heard,  were  so  impressed  upon  her  mind 
that  she  went  early  next  day  to  visit  the  Coroner, 
to  whom  she  told  the  story. 

Of  course,  that  official  laughed  at  the  tale, 
called  her  a  monomaniac,  and  told  her  to  go  to 
some  spiritualist  with  her  yarn,  for  that  they 
only  needed  a  thing  to  be  impossible  in  order  to 
believe  it.  The  advice  was  given  in  scorn,  for  the 
matter-of-fact  Coroner  had  no  sympathy  what- 
ever with  spiritualist  manifestations,  and  proba- 
bly held  rather  hazy  views  about  a  future  life 
anyhow.  But  the  woman  persevered,  and  carried 
her  story  from  one  high  official  to  another,  until 
she  saw  and  was  introduced  to  a  legal  gentleman 


The  Witness  from  the  Dead.  lf)l 

well  known  as  a  believer  in  actual  manifestations 
from  the  Spirit  Land. 

He  determined  to  quietly  investigate  the  mat- 
ter, and  ascertain  what  credit  could  be  attached 
to  so  singular  a  circumstance.  His  first  act  was 
to  have  the  body  exhumed  and  examined.  This, 
his  official  position  enabled  him  to  have  done. 
It  was  evident  at  once  that  the  woman  had 
died  from  a  blow  on  the  head.  The  skull 
was  broken ;  the  fracture  was  semi- circular, 
and  the  long  hair  had  been  carefully  folded 
over  the  wound,  and  kept  in  place  by  one  of 
those  head-bands  so  constantly  worn  by  Polish 
women. 

Next,  without  the  issuance  of  a  warrant,  the 
man,  Bernhard  Rubas,  was  brought  before  the 

J ,  who  closely  questioned  him  in  his  private 

office.  The  man  was  defiant,  and  denied,  in  toto, 
every  accusation  or  insinuation  that  he  had  any 
hand  in  his  wife' s  death.  Finally,  he  offered  to 
make  oath  that  he  knew  nothing  of  her,  except 
that  she  was  still  in  bed  when  he  left  home  in 
the  morning,  and  must  have  got  up  and  walked 
to  the  Park.  But  in  the  very  act  of  lifting  the 
sacred  volume  to  his  lips,  retribution,  swift  and 
terrible,  overtook  him.  His  tongue  seemed  par- 


152  Suppressed  Sensations. 


alyzed,  his  lower  jaw  dropped,  his  eyes  almost 
started  from  their  sockets,  and  he  stared  fixedly 
at  a  spot  a  few  feet  off.  All  looked  in  that 
direction,  but  could  see  nothing.  With  a  violent 
effort,  the  murderer  broke  the  silence,  exclaim- 
ing :  — 

' '  Terena  !  Terena  !  forgive  me  ;  forgive  me. 
Let  me  rest  ;  let  me  rest." 

He  then  fell  to  the  floor  in  terrible  convulsions. 
He  was  placed  under  the  care  of  a  physician  of 
good  standing,  and  his  ravings  clearly  proved  the 
manner  of  his  crime.  Again  and  again  he  acted 
it  over  in  his  delirium,  and  ever  imagined  that 
the  spirit  of  his  murdered  wife  stood  just  at  the 
head  of  the  bed,  but  always  beyond  his  reach. 
He  never  recovered  his  senses,  and  is  now  an  in- 
mate of  one  of  the  "violent"  wards  in  the  Insane 
Asylum. 

The  facts  as  given  above  were  suppressed  at 
the  time,  but  an  examination  of  the  records  will 
establish  their  substantial  truth  ;  only  the  names 
being  changed.  Of  course  the  criminal  code  con- 
tains no  provision  for  the  reception  of  evidence 
from  the  spirit  world,  and  during  the  continu- 
ance of  Rubas'  insanity,  he  can  not  be  placed  on 
trial.  We  have  no  theories  to  advance,  and  the 


The  Witness  from  the  Dead. 


153 


reader  must  take  this  mysterious  history  on  its 
merits,  premising  only  that  the  scene  in  the 
private  office  of  the  legal  official  spoken  of, 
was  witnessed  by  no  less  than  seven  reputable 
persons,  and  that  the  Polish  widow  to  whom 
the  apparition  confided  the  dreadful  secret,  is 
a  woman  of  good  character,  and  had  no  motive 
for  deception. 


LEAF     VIII. 


PRETTIER  girl  than 
Fanny  Mordaunt 
did  not  live  be- 
tween  Ashland 
avenue  and  the 
Lake    Shore. 
Her  station  in  life 
was  a  humble   one ; 

•rfc- 

for  her  mother  was  a 
soldier's    widow,    eking 
the    bare     subsistence 
_r    afforded  by  a   pension  by 

taking  in  plain  sewing. 
When    I  first  knew  Fanny  she 

._?*•    I_J^^---^=T-^^  — -*  i  r  » 

:^^^g^?['  was  a  pupil  at  the  Scammon  School, 
^  and  as  she  tripped  along  Madison  street, 
in  her  simple  calico  dress  and  broad  sun-bonnet, 
with  her  books  under  her  arm,  she  was  a  subject 
of  observation  to  all  who  passed  her. 

(155) 


156  Suppressed  Sensations. 


The  busy  clerks  engaged  in  dressing  dry  goods 
store  windows  paused,  with  articles  of  merchan- 
dise in  their  hands,  to  gaze  on  Fanny  as  she 
passed,  and  her  big  blue  eyes,  rosy  cheeks  and 
long  flaxen  curls  haunted  them  through  their 
business  hours  and  were  in  their  thoughts  by 
night  as  well  as  day. 

When  Fanny  left  school  she  assisted  her 
mother,  and  carried  home  the  sewing  she  had 
completed.  She  was  a  good  girl,  and  paid  no 
attention  to  the  rude  remarks  or  fulsome  com- 
pliments which  were  uttered  in  her  hearing  at 
crossings  and  wherever  groups  of  young  men 
congregated. 

In  this  precocious  age,  when  misses  of  seven 
give  parties  and  wear  diamonds,  and  when  boys 
who  ought  to  be  in  pinafores  are  dressed  up 
man-fashion,  to  chaperon  the  darlings,  Fanny 
had  arrived  at  seventeen  without  ever  having  had 
a  beau.  She  was  of  a  retiring  disposition,  and 
if  her  glass  had  told  her  that  she  was  beautiful, 
it  had  not  spoiled  her;  for  she  was  as  modest 
as  pretty,  and  the  wish  of  her  mother  was  to  her 
the  highest  law,  while  to  fondle  her  baby  brother 
Arthur  was  her  greatest  pleasure. 

But  a  change  came  over  the  spirit  of  her  dream, 


Fanny  Mor  daunt"1  s  Low.  157 


and  that  pure,  simple  heart,  which  had  never  felt 
a  ripple  in  the  current  of  its  existence,  was  to 
become  a  whirlpool  of  passion.  That  fair-haired, 
blue- eyed  girl,  whose  wrath  had  never  yet  out- 
lasted the  shades  of  evening,  was  to  prove  herself 
a  woman  of  passions  as  strong,  hatred  as  bitter, 
and  revenge  as  dire  as  a  Borgia  or  a  Catherine. 

On  the  West  Side,  near  to  Union  Park,  there 
lived  a  young  man,  whose  name  was  Beauchamp. 
English  by  birth,  he  had  in  his  boyhood  been 
sent  out  to  the  East  Indies  as  a  clerk  ;  but,  fall- 
ing into  evil  hands,  had  appropriated  funds  to 
which  he  had  no  right,  dissipated  them  with  dis- 
solute companions  of  his  own  age,  and,  dreading 
discovery,  had  secured  a  passage  to  California, 
where  he  soon  became  thoroughly  vitiated  in  the 
society  of  hoodlums  and  gamblers.  Getting  into 
difficulties  there,  and  becoming  known  to  the 
police,  he  nad  journeyed  farther  east,  and,  find- 
ing Chicago  a  fit  field  for  his  operations,  he 
halted  here,  and  was  well  known  to  the  faster 
portion  of  our  men-about-town  as  an  expert 
roper-in  and  successful  fleecer  of  greenhorns. 
He  was  extremely  handsome,  dressed  well,  and 
had  all  the  outward  appearance  of  a  gentleman  ; 
while  a  good  education,  a  ready  tongue  and  a 
11 


158  Suppressed  Sensations. 

polite  exterior  readily  procured  him  admission 
into  society  circles  on  the  West  Side,  where  he 
was  not  known,  but  regarded  as  a  young  English- 
man of  means,  who  had  some  kind  of  position 
among  the  merchants  of  the  city. 

One  evening,  while  passing  through  the  park, 
a  rough  and  partially  intoxicated  man  had  ad- 
dressed some  rude  words  to  Fanny,  who  was 
hurrying  away,  her  face  suffused  with  blushes 
and  her  eyes  radiant  with  tears.  At  this  moment 
Alfred  Beauchamp  appeared  upon  the  field,  and 
having  noticed  the  poor  girl's  distress,  politely 
offered  her  his  protection.  She,  in  her  fear,  not 
stopping  to  reflect,  permitted  him  to  see  her 
home.  He,  with  the  ease  of  a  man  of  the  world, 
introduced  himself  to  her  mother,  and  that  even- 
ing  g?SLS  the  first  of  a  series  of .  visits  which 
terminated  in  Alfred's  being  considered  the 
accepted*  lover  of  Fanny  Mordaunt. 

He  was  the  most  attentive  of  swains,  and 
scarcely  a  day  passed  without  some  little  present 
or  some  delicate  act  of  kindness,  showing  how 
much  she  was  admired  by  her  lover. 

He  used  frequently  to  take  her  to  places  of 
amusement,  at  first  with  her  mother ;  but  gradu- 
ally, the  mother  was  dropped,  and  they  went 


Fanny  Mor daunt' 's  Love.  'lf>9 


together,  the  poor  widow  having  all  the  confi- 
dence in  the  world  in  the  virtue  of  her  daughter 
and  the  honor  of  her  daughter's  lover. 

Of  course  little  suppers  and  prolonged  visits 
to  ice-cream  rooms  and  other  after-theatre  resorts 
followed,  and  it  was  usually  very  late  before 
they  returned. 

Slowly,  methodically  and  satanically,  with  all 
the  art  of  the  libertine,  all  the  wiles  of  a  Mephis- 
topheles,  did  this  handsome  roue  undermine  the 
virtue  of  this  poor  young  girl.  She  loved  him, 
she  believed  in  him,  she  thought  him  the  Cheva- 
lier Bayard  of  truth  and  honor,  and — it  was  the 
same  old,  old  story — trust,  passion,  delirium, 
remorse.  No  longer  the  regal  mistress,  but  the 
slave  of  the  whims  and  humors  of  a  being  with- 
out principle  and  without  truth.  ,.• 

Petted  in  his  idle  hours,  fondled  when  the 
love-fit  was  on,  and  left  to  pine  for  long",'  dreary 
hours,  poor  Fanny  now  lived  in  a  fashionable 
suite  of  rooms  on  Washington  street,  under  the 
name  of  wife,  it  is  true,  but  knowing,  feeling, 
every  hour,  that  she  was  but  tenant  at  will. 

The  great  fault  had  brought  bitter  repentance, 
the  unguarded  half  hour  had  been  succeeded  by 
months  of  sorrow,  and  her  sad  face  and  down- 


160  Suppressed  Sensations. 


cast  eye,  her  refusal  to  go  into  such  company  as 
he  would  have  chosen  for  her,  soon  tired  him  of 
his  victim,  and  she  saw  herself  neglected  by  the 
man  who  had  sworn  to  love  her,  to  cherish  her 
through  good  and  evil  report. 

There  were  plenty  of  women,  he  told  her, 
living  in  Chicago,  in  the  same  condition,  who, 
satisfied  with  dress  and  diamonds,  formed  a 
society  of  their  own  and  lived  a  life  of  continued 
pleasure.  'Poor  Fanny  had  not  been  nurtured  in 
a  preparatory  school  for  such  a  life,  and  its  very 
idea  shocked  her.  She  had  fallen,  it  is  true,  but 
oh,  not  so  low. 

But  deeper  sorrow,  more  bitter  humiliation, 
still  lower  degradation,  if  possible,  awaited 
Fanny. 

The  fires  of  jealousy  were  added  to  the  pangs 
of  remorse  and  the  feelings  aroused  by  neglect. 
A  letter  which  she  found  in  Beauchamp'  s  pocket 
was  the  first  intimation  of  his  intention  to  desert 
her,  and  by  an  honorable  (?)  alliance  with  an- 
other, secure  a  fortune  of  considerable  amount. 
Of  course  she  did  not  ascertain  all  the  facts  at 
once,  but  she  kept  her  own  counsel.  The  note 
gave  her  the  clue,  and  she  had  plenty  of  time  to 
follow  it  up.  She  discovered  where  he  spent 


Fanny  Mor daunt*  s  Love.  161 


many  of  his  evenings ;  that  he  passed  for  a 
wealthy  member  of  the  Board  of  Trade  ;  that  he 
had  managed  to  exhibit  to  the  guardian  of  the 
wealthy  orphan  such  evidences  of  respectability 
as  had  satisfied  him ;  that  he  had  secured  the 
affections  of  the  young  lady,  who  was  as  beauti- 
ful as  rich,  but  of  a  totally  different  style  of 
beauty  from  her  own — tall,  dark,  queen-like ; 
that  he  had  proposed  for  her  hand,  and  had  been 
accepted. 

No  sooner  had  she,  by  patient  search,  discov- 
ered these  facts,  than  her  mind  was  made  up. 
Neglect  and  scorn  had  long  killed  in  her  that 
love  which  had  led  her  to  ruin,  and  a  life  cut  off 
from  all  communication  with  sympathy  had 
blunted  the  feeling  of  shame  which  would  make 
her  suffer  in  silence  and  despair.  Nothing  was 
left  in  her  heart  but  a  desire  for  revenge — a  deter- 
mination to  thwart  his  designs  and  prevent  his 
marriage. 

Her  resolve  once  taken,  she  was  not  slow  to 
carry  it  out.  Dressed  in  neat  yet  elegant  attire, 
and  still  resplendent  in  her  blonde  beauty,  she 
called  at  the  house  of  her  rival,  sent  up  her 
maiden  name,  and  was  admitted. 

"To  what  do  I  owe  this  honor?"  asked  the  tall 


162  Suppressed  Sensations. 


and  stately  Miss  Atherston,  as  she  swept  with 
her  hazel  eye  the  well  dressed  and  beautiful  girl 
before  her. 

"Have  I  the  privilege  of  speaking  to  Miss 
Honoria  Atherston?"  asked  Fanny  Mordaunt. 

"That  is  my  name,"  replied  Honoria,  "and 
yours, -I  see,"  glancing  at  the  card  she  held  in 
her  hand,  "is  — 

"Never  mind  my  name,"  impetuously  inter- 
rupted Fanny.  "Who  I  am  matters  not,  but  I 
am  come  to  save  you  from  misery  worse  than 
death.  You  are  engaged  to  Alfred  Beauchamp— 

"But,  madam,  by  what  right  - 

"By  what  right?  By  every  right,  by  every 
wrong,  by  every  duty,  by  every  feeling  which 
can  swell  and  break  a  woman's  heart." 

"But " 

"Do  not  interrupt  me.  Let  me,  if  I  can,  save 
you  from  a  fate  as  cruel  as  mine.  Would  you 
place  your  happiness  in  the  hands  of  a  system- 
atic seducer?  your  fortune  in  the  power  of  a 
professional  gambler  ? " 

"Really,  Miss  Mordaunt,  I  can  not  bear  one 
in  whom  I  may  take  an  interest  thus  attacked." 

"You  would  rather  rush  blindly  on  your  fate 
than  listen  to  words  of  truth  and  warning." 


164  Suppressed  Sensations. 

"  What  proofs  have  you  ?" 

"What  proofs?  Look  at  me.  I  was  once  a 
pure  and  happy  girl,  happy  in  my  innocence 
and  my  poverty,  the  delight  of  a  widowed 
mother's  heart,  the  pride  of  a  darling  brother. 
What  am  I  now  \  Nay,  do  not  start.  I  will 
not  long  disgrace  your,  house  with  a  pres- 
ence so  loathsome.  The  tempter  came — in  the 
form  of  Beauchamp — wormed  himself  into  my 
affections,  slowly,  deliberately  and  damnably 
sapped  the  principles  of  womanly  virtue  in 
which  I  had  been  reared,  deceived  my  mother, 
deceived  me,  and  now,  when  the  novelty  of  his 
poor  conquest  has  worn  off,  would  secure  you ; 
not  for  your  beauty,  though  that  is  glorious,  not 
for  your  companionship,  but  that  he  may  risk 
your  fortune  at  the  gambling  table,  may  take 
your  money  to  the  race-course  and  the  betting- 
room,  may  make  you  the  plaything  of  his 
idle  hours,  and  the  hostess,  doing  the  honors 
of  your  table  to  such  as  he  will  bring  about 
you." 

"Really,  Miss  Mordaunt.  I  can  not  listen  to 
such  language  as  this.  Mr.  Beauchamp  is  a  gen- 
tleman, and  is,  I  admit,  my  accepted  lover,  and 
if  at  any  time  he  has,  like  all  men  of  the  worldr 


Fanny  MordaunV  s  Love.  165 

stooped  to  a  dishonorable  amour  with  some  mer- 
cenary woman,  whose  presence  is  - 

"Contamination,  you  would  say.  It  is  well, 
proud  lady.  Heap  insult  upon  the  head  of  the 
woman  who  would  save  you  ;  but  I  tell  you  that 
Fanny  Mordaunt  will  not  be  deserted,  will  not 
see  you  the  wife  of  the  man  who  lias  driven  her 
thus  far  on  the  road  to  perdition.  Love  may  be 
dead ;  fascination  may  have  lost  its  power ;  my 
rharms,  once  as  great  and  attractive  as  your 
own,  may  have  faded,  but  in  this  bosom  there  is 
yet  one  passion  which  can  not  die,  which  shall 
not  sleep,  which  will  not  fail,  and  that  passion  is 
revenge.  I  would  have  blessed  you — you  refuse 
my  aid.  Go  on.  Make  Beauchamp  your  hus- 
band, and  then — then — we  shall  meet  again." 

Fanny,  without  another  word,  withdrew,  and 
left  Miss  Atherston  perturbed  and  annoyed.  Her 
first  impulse  was  to  send  at  once  for  Alfred  ;  but 
on  second  thought  she  determined  to  bear  the 
suspense  until  night,  when  he  would  be  sure  to 
call,  and  then  an  explanation  might  ensue. 

Evening  came,  and  with  it  her  lover,  gayer  and 
more  charming  than  ever.  His  appearance  was 
so  elegant,  his  voice  so  sweet,  his  manner  so  in- 
genuous, that  Honoria  had  not  the  heart  to  make 


166  Suppressed  Sensations. 

him  unhappy.  She  thought  of  course  that  the 
story  she  had  heard  was  an  exaggeration  of  pique 
and  unprincipled  slander,  that  the  woman  be- 
longed to  that  class  who  by  similar  stories  man- 
age to  extort  money  from  their  victims,  and  it  was 
late  in  the  evening  before  she  ventured  to  ask  him 
if  he  knew  a  lady  named  Fanny  Mordaunt. 

For  a  moment  he  was  disconcerted ;  but  he 
had  been  bred  in  a  school  where  sudden  sur- 
prises are  received  with  a  nonchalance  so  well 
contrived  that  the  face  is  no  index  to  the  mind, 
and  in  a  few  curt  and  cruel  sentences  he  dis- 
missed the  doubts  which  had  found  a  lodging  in 
his  fair  one's  breast.  In  his  heart  of  hearts, 
however,  he  registered  an  oath  to  make  Fanny 
suffer  ;  and  when  he  left  his  lady-love  that  even- 
ing it  was  to  hurry  to  his  mistress  and  effectu- 
ally silence  her  pratings  for  the  future.  It  is 
impossible  to  say  what  dark  feelings  possessed 
him,  what  were  his  plans,  and  how  he  would 
have  secured  her  non-interference ;  for  when  he 
reached  her  rooms  all  was  dark,  and  no  one 
answered  his  demand  for  admission. 

Coming  down  the  stairs,  a  head  was  obtruded 
from  one  of  the  lower  doors  and  he  was  asked  if 
he  required  the  key,  which  had  been  left  there 


Fanny  MordaunVs  Love.  167 


for  him.  He  took  it  and  ascended  again.  Open- 
ing the  door,  striking  a  match  and  lighting  the 
gas,  he  found  everything  in  confusion.  Boxes 
and  drawers  were  open,  heaps  of  clothes  and 
other  things  were  upon  the  floor,  letters  were 
torn  to  shreds  and  scattered  around ;  but  not  a 
line,  not  a  word  left  to  explain  the  absence  of 
Fanny. 

Days  passed  away,  but  he  could  learn  nothing 
of  her  whereabouts.  He  closely  watched  the 
daily  papers,  carefully  scrutinized  the  accounts 
of  suicides  and  "  bodies  found ;"  but  nothing 
could  he  discover.  He  employed  spies,  but  to 
no  purpose ;  and  he  finally  concluded  that  the 
poor,  deceived  girl  had  changed  her  name,  left 
the  city,  and  probably  accepted,  in  her  rage  and 
despair,  a  course  of  life  which  would  effectually 
secure  her  from  sympathy  or  from  likely  recog- 
nition. 

He  was  not  the  man  to  permit  such  an  episode 
in  his  life  to  disturb  his  plans,  and  having  cun- 
ningly succeeded  in  setting  himself  right  with 
Honoria,  the  wedding-day  was  fixed,  and  every 
preparation  was  made  in  the  way  of  trousseau 
and  arrangements  for  a  nuptial  trip  to  the  East. 

Far   from    these    circumstances  having  made 


168  Suppressed  Sensations. 


him  shy  of  his  old  haunts,  he  became  among  his 
gambling  friends  more  reckless  than  ever.  He 
scarcely  ever  failed  to  secure  some  new  pigeon  to 
be  plucked,  and  took  a  hand  in  the  operation. 
The  night  before  the  day  appointed  for  his  wed- 
ding, he  had  formed  the  Acquaintance  of  a  couple 
of  young  men  who  had  come  to  Chicago  for  the 
purpose  of  purchasing  a  crushing  mill  to  carry 
out  to  the  Colorado  mining  district,  and  who 
were  both  well  loaded  down  with  money,  lavish 
in  their  display  of  it,  and  reckless  in  its  expen- 
diture. One  of  them  was  a  burly,  dark-eyed, 
black-moustached  fellow  of  some  five  and  twenty, 
the  other  one  a  light-complexioned  youth  of  re- 
tiring disposition,  who  seemed  to  studiously 
avoid  notice,  who  sat  apart  and  refused  to 
indulge  in  either  the  drinking  or  social  converse 
of  his  companions.  He  was  suffering  from  a 
violent  fit  of  neuralgia,  and  was  closely  muffled 
up  in  an  overcoat  and  large  scarlet  comforter. 

It  was  at  a  well-known  saloon  in  Theatre  alley, 
that  these  parties  met  early  in  the  evening,  and 
an  appointment  was  made  for  a  quiet  game  of 
faro,  after  the  theatre,  at  a  notorious  hell  on 
Clark  street. 

All  the  parties  were  prompt,  and,  once  intro- 


Fanny  Mordaunf  s  Love.  169 


duced,  play  ran  high.  The  two  western  men 
seemed  careless  whether  they  won  or  lost,  and 
after  the  usual  drawing  on  by  minor  winnings  on 
their  part,  heavier  stakes  were  proposed,  and  the 
inevitable  fleecing  began.  The  younger  one, 
however,  took  no  active  part  in  the  game,  per- 
mitting his  partner  to  play  for  him,  and  merely 
producing,  from  time  to  time,  rolls  of  notes  from 
his  pockets,  as  they  rapidly  disappeared  and  be- 
came the  property  of  Alfred  Beauchamp  and 
his  companions. 

Much  larger  sums  than  had  been  staked  in  the 
earlier  stages  of  the  game,  were  still  further  aug- 
mented by  bets  on  the  turn  of  the  various 
chances,  and  once  the  younger  man,  while  hand- 
ing over  to  his  companion  a  roll  of  notes, 
carelessly  laid  his  hand  upon  the  neck  of 
Beauchamp. 

In  an  instant,  before  even  the  action  had  been 
remarked,  Beauchamp  uttered  a  short,  sharp 
cry,  stifled  in  its  birth,  dropped  his  cards,  threw 
back  his  head,  extended  his  limbs,  his  hands 
dropped  by  his  side,  his  mouth  opened,  his  eyes 
closed,  and  it  was  thought  he  had  fainted.  But 
he  was  dead. 

No  pen  can  portray   the  excitement.      They 


170  Suppressed  Sensations. 

threw  open  his  vest,  undid  his  collar,  dashed 
water  in  his  face,  forced  brandy  down  his  throat, 
but  it  was  useless.  He  lay  there  limp  as  a  rag, 
all  muscular  contraction  gone,  and  the  pulse  no 
longer  beating.  There  was  certainly  no  one  to 
blame  for  his  death,  there  had  been  no  quarrel, 
no  weapon  used  ;  and  the  only  thing  to  be  done 
was  to  send  for  a  medical  man,  clear  away  the 
evidences  of  their  employment,  and  summon  the 
police. 

During  the  excitement  caused  by  this  fatal  in- 
cident, it  was  scarcely  noticed  that  the  younger 
of  the  two  strangers  had  abruptly  taken  his 
leave,  but  as  no  suspicions  were  aroused,  no  one 
could  be  blamed,  and  he  had  taken  so  little  in- 
terest in  the  game,  being  mostly  employed  in. 
holding  the  handkerchief  to  his  face,  he  was  for- 
gotten, or  rather  the  gamblers  were  relieved  by 
his  absence,  holding  as  they  did  several  hundred 
dollars  of  his  money. 

When  the  doctor  arrived,  he  carefully  stripped 
and  examined  the  corpse,  and  without  being  able 
on  so  cursory  an  inspection,  to  give  any  diagnosis 
of  the  cause  of  death,  beyond  his  opinion  that  it 
was  from  internal  rupture  of  some  important 
vessel  connected  immediately  with  the  heart,  he 


Fanny  MordaunVs  Love.  171 

retired  to  give  the  usual  notice  for  the  impanel- 
ment  of  a  coroner's  inquest. 

The  inquest  was  held.  An  autopsy  was  made, 
and  no  cause  could  be  assigned,  as  every  portion 
of  life's  machinery  was  healthy  and  perfect,  and 
a  verdict  of  "  Died  by  the  visitation  of  God," 
was  insisted  upon  by  a  jury  of  which  the  major- 
ity chanced  to  be  Englishmen. 

Of  course  the  manner  of  Beauchamp's  life 
was  no  longer  a  secret,  and  the  Atherston  fam- 
ily saw  what  an  abyss  had  been  escaped  by 
Honoria.  She  was  shocked  and  horrified  at  the 
awfully  sudden  death  of  her  lover,  but  saw  now 
that  she  had  been  deceived  by  him,  and  that  she 
had  in  all  probability  been  spared  a  life  of  mis- 
ery and  humiliation. 

There  was,  however,  one  man  in  Chicago,  a 
member  of  a  noted  detective  corps,  who  was  not 
satisfied  with  the  result  of  the  Coroner' s  inquest, 
and  who  felt  assured  that  there  been  some  foul 
play ;  he  in  some  way  or  other  connected  the 
young  man  with  the  death  of  Beauchamp,  and, 
with  quiet  alacrity,  endeavored  to  trace  out  the 
whereabouts  of  the  couple  from  the  West. 

He  discovered  all  he  was  in  search  of,  but  the 
story  never  became  public.  He  is  now  in  Eu- 


172  Suppressed  Sensations. 


rope,  and  a  beautiful  blonde  was  his  companion 
on  the  journey.  In  his  possession  is  a  singularly 
made  ring,  having  on  its  surface  a  tine  point 
not  larger  than  the  spore  of  a  Canada  this- 
tle. This  point  is  hollow,  and  in  the  body  of 
the  ring  is  a  receptacle  so  arranged  as  upon 
pressure  of  the  ring  to  emit  a  minute  globule 
of  fluid. 

That  ring  was  the  implement  in  the  hands  of 
Fanny  Mordaunt  to  revenge  her  wrongs. 

The  dark  young  man  was  professor  of  toxicol- 
ogy in  a  western  college.  During  his  researches 
after  the  history  of  poisons,  he  encountered  in 
New  York  an  old  German  chemist,  who  had  suc- 
ceeded in  obtaining  from  a  Patagonian  Indian  a 
small  quantity  of  the  deadly  Wourali,  that  viru- 
lent poison  which  is  made  by  the  savage  tribes 
of  South  America  for  the  anointing  of  their 
arrows. 

It  is  a  grayish  powder,  resembling  pepper  in  its 
appearance,  of  which  the  smallest  dose  in  solu- 
tion is  instantaneous  death.  It  may  be  swal- 
lowed with  impunity,  but  once  coming  in  contact 
with  the  blood,  has  no  antidote.  Contrary  to  the 
.  .strychnine  class,  it  totally  suspends  spasmodic 
and  muscular  action,  so  that  death  is  painless, 


Fanny  MordaunVs  Love.  173 


from  the  heart's  ceasing  to  beat,  or  the  nerves 
to  act. 

Fanny  Mordaunt  had  known  this  young  man 
when  he  was  in  a  drug  store  on  Madison  street ; 
had  heard  of  his  researches,  and  had  once  heard 
him  describe  this  poison,  when  he  was  on  a  vaca- 
tion visit  to  Chicago. 

She  had  made  up  her  mind,  and  when  she  left 
Chicago,  she  went  to  Iowa  City,  determined  to 
bend  him  to  her  will.  How  well  she  succeeded, 
this  narrative  has  shown.  He  has  since  given  up 
his  professorship,  and  is  now  traveling  in  China 
and  Japan. 

Fanny  remains  in  Europe,  and  Honoria  is  still 
unmarried. 


LEAF    IX. 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  COMICAL  HAT. 


HEN    upon    the 

staff  of  the ,  my 

assignments  usually 
led   me  where   great 
crowds  of  people,  for 
either    business    or 
pleasure,  congregated, 
and  there  was  scarcely 
a  monster  gathering  of 

-— i  f  • 

j  people,  from  Bridgeport  to 

,1 

II  Lake   View,    or  from   the 

shores  of  Lake  Michigan  to 
Central  Park,  of  which  I  did 
not  form  an  integral  part. 

Upon  one  occasion,  at  a  large 
political  mass  meeting  in  the 
vicinity  of  Twenty-second  street, 

(175) 


176  Suppressed  Sensations. 

I,  by  chance,  noted  a  tall  and  well-dressed  man, 
standing  in  the  crowd,  not  far  from  the  platform 
upon  which  the  reporters  were  seated.  There 
was  nothing  peculiar  about  this  individual  to 
invite  scrutiny,  except  his  hat.  He  had  on  a 
loose  overcoat  of  a  quiet  Oxford  mixture  hue, 
a  stand-up  collar,  and  a  full  flowing  beard,  like 
many  others  in  the  crowd  ;  but  what  a  hat !  You 
couldn't  help  seeing  that  hat.  Although  so 
prominent  an  object,  it  would  be  hard  to  give 
any  description  of  it  which  would  not  equally 
portray  numerous  other  hats,  and  yet,  once  seen 
it  was  recognized  forever 

It  was  a  plug — no,  a  felt — no, — I  really  can 
not  say  what  the  material  was.  It  was  not 'fluffy, 
it  was  not  smooth  ;  it  was  not  a  short  hat,  it  was 
not  a  tall  hat ;  it  was  not  what  you  would  call  a 
glossy  black  hat,  neither  was  it  a  drab  or  a  brown 
or  a  white  hat.  It  was  as  indefinite  in  color  as  it 
was  in  shape.  There  was  nothing  excruciatingly 
peculiar  about  the  turn  of  the  brim,  it  was  not  so 
much  unlike  the  turn  of  other  hats,  and  yet  you 
couldn't  help  noticing  it,  and  once  your  eye  set 
upon  that  hat,  it  had  a  sort  of  fascination  about 
it,  and  you  could  not — at  least  I  could  not — keep 
eyes  from  it. 


Tlie  Man  with  the  Comical  Hat.        177 

There  the  mm  stood  in  that  dense  crowd, 
seemingly  stolidly  listening  to  the  spread-eagle 
oratory  of  the  evening,  without  making  any 
demonstration  of  dissent  or  appreciation.  I  got 
nervous  about  that  hat.  I  should  have  liked  to 
interview  its  owner,  and  had  fully  made  up  my 
mind  so  to  do  at  the  close  of  the  meeting,  but 
having  to  pay  particular  attention  to  a  very  rapid 
speaker,  who  was  the  lion  of  the  evening,  and 
whose  remarks  were  expected  by  the  political 
editor  to  be  reported  in  full,  I  kept  my  head  over 
the  table  at  my  short-hand  notes  for  probably 
half  an  hour.  When  I  looked  again  for  my  hat, 
it  was  gone.  But  the  memory  of  that  hat  did 
not  depart  with  it,  and  when  copying  out  my 
notes,  I  found  myself  saying,  involuntarily, 
•"  What  a  comical  hat." 

On  the  following  Sunday,  the  great  Plymouth 
•divine  was  to  preach  at  the  Moody  Church,  on 
the  North  Side,  and  my  assignment  led  me  there. 
There  was  an  immense  crowd — the  sidewalks, 
and  even  the  roadway,  for  several  blocks,  were 
full  of  people.  With  the  press  talisman,  which 
is  the  true  American  "Open  Sesame,"  I  made 
my  way  to  the  chief  entrance,  and  while  standing 
among  a  bevy  of  elegantly  dressed  ladies,  I  ex- 


178  Suppressed  Sensations. 


claimed  aloud,  not  being  able  to  repress  my 
sensations,  "There  it  is  again!"  There  it  was 
again,  sure  enough.  The  same  identical  hat  tow- 
ering above  the  marabout  feathers  and  chignons 
of  the  fashionable  crowd,  evidently  waiting  to 
get  into  the  place  of  worship.  ' '  Now, ' '  I  thought 
to  myself,  "I  have  you  certain,  and  before  I  take 
my  notes  in  this  evening,  I  will  know  the  history 
of  that  hat." 

There  was,  however,  one  very  strange  circum- 
stance about  its  wearer  which  puzzled  me,  and 
which  I  could  not  elucidate  to  my  own  satisfac- 
tion. The  hat  was  the  same  ;  there  was  no  mis- 
taking that.  The  figure  was  the  same — the  same 
tall  man  of  military  bearing.  The  face  was  the 
same  ;  but  where  were  the  whiskers  ?  Certainly, 
when  last  I  saw  that  hat,  that  face,  the  chin  and 
cheeks  were  fringed  with  a  long,  flowing,  iron- 
gray  beard.  What  could  have  induced  the  man 
to  shave  ?  The  naked  face  did  not  become  him 
half  so  well  as  that  luxurious  growth  of  hair, 

which  must  have  been  the  result  of  much  time 

i 

and  care. 

However,  the  doors  opened.  I  rushed  in  with 
the  first  surge  of  the  crowd,  and  when  I  had 
taken  my  place,  I  looked  round  in  vain  for  the 


Tfie  Man  with  the  Comical  Hat. 


hat  —  my  hat,  for  I  began  to  feel  a  sort  of  partner 
proprietorship  in  that  remarkable  specimen  of 
head  gear. 

I  saw  it  no  more  that  day.  In  fact,  several 
days  passed  and  I  had  learned  to  look  upon  that 
hat  as  one  of  the  things  no  fellow  could  fathom, 
one  of  those  conundrums  to  be  placed  with 
"what  song  the  syrens  sang,  or  what  name 
Achilles  assumed  when  he  hid  himself  among  ^  > 
women." 

The  next  great  crowd  I  visited  was  on  the  occa- 
sion of  a  notable  fire  on  State  street.     The-  whole 

*'^PBB|^_ 

street  was  illumined  by  the  flames,  and  a  seemftig 
mass  of  humanity  crowded  as  near  the  burning 
building  and  the  sweating  firemen  as  heat  and 
police  would  permit.  I  was  busy  interrogating 
a  watchman,  who  had  been  in  charge  of  the  store, 
when,  lifting  up  my  head,  illuminated  by  the  red 
glare  of  the  flames,  was  that  mysterious  hat.  Of 
course  I  couldn't  mistake  it.  It  was  photo-  , 
graphed  on  my  brain,  and  I  could  have 
picked  it  out  in  a  moment  from  that  heteroge- 
neous heap  of  hats  in  Hogarth's  "Assembly 
Ball." 

But  there  was  another  mystery  about  it  this 
time.     "Instead  of  the  iron  gray  whiskers  and 

.  I 


180  Suppressed  Sensations. 


beard ;  instead  of  the  smooth  shaved  face ; 
the  wearer  of  that  hat,  the  tall,  military  enig- 
ma, was  hirsute  as  a  bear,  and  his  beard 
was  as  red  as  Tittlebat  Titmouse's,  in  War- 
ren's once  fashionable  novel,  "Ten  Thousand  a 
Year." 

"What  is  this  mystery?"  I  exclaimed;  "I 
will  fathom  it,  or—  "Stand  back,  young 

man,"  bawled  a  stalwart  policeman,  as  I  was 
suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  and  rushing  be- 
yond the  cordon  of  official  guardians.  While 
expostulating  with  the  club-holder,  my  wraith 
again  disappeared,  and,  driven  almost  to  desper- 
ation, I  registered  a  mental  vow  that  I  would 
obtain  the  secret  of  that  hat,  or  perish  in  the 
attempt. 

It  would  be  merely  wearying  the  reader 
to  recapitulate  the  number  of  times  I  saw, 
the  number  of  times  I  came  within  an  ace 
of  capturing,  that  hat.  At  the  Exposition 
I  saw  it  looming  up.  At  a  base-ball  match 
it  was  in  the  thickest  throng  of  spectators. 
It  haunted  me  at  the  races,  but  never  seemed 
to  affect  the  grand  stand  ;  and  always,  in 
some  very  mysterious  way  or  another,  escaped 
me.  And  the  number  of  beards — the  simple 


The  Man  with  the  Comical  Hat.        181 

moustache,  the  moustache  and  imperial,  the 
sober  mutton  chop,  and  the  waving  Dundreary, 
the  shovel,  the  close  cropped,  the  full  flow- 
ing, the  white,  the  black,  the  gray,  the  brown, 
the  tawny,  the  decided  carrot,  and  the  towy 
auburn.  I  shouldn't  have  been  surprised  to  see 
that  hat  overtopping  a  luxuriant  crop  of  grass 
green  hair. 

One  day  by  chance,  when  I  had  lost  sight  of 
that  hat  and  its  wearer  for  some  weeks,  I  casu- 
ally strolled  into  the  store  of  one  of  our  leading 
hatters. 

Could  I  believe  my  eyes  ?  Was  I  dreaming  ? 
Were  my  optics  making  fools  of  the  other 
senses?  There  was  the  identical  hat  on  the 
counter. 

Concealing  my  astonishment,  my  wonder,  my 
delight,  I  went  up  to  it.  It  was  the  same  nonde- 
script col  or,  the  same  indescribable  shape,  had 
the  same  indefinable  curve  of  brim,  but  it  was 
brand  new. 

I  picked  it  up ;  I  put  it  on ;  it  fitted  me  to  a 
hair. 

"This  is  a  very  nobby  hat,"  I  remarked  to  the 
clerk.  "It  suits  my  style  of  beauty  to  a  T. 
What  is  the  price  ?" 


182  Suppressed  Sensations. 


"Oh,  that  hat,"  said  he,  "was  made  to 
order." 

"Of  course,"  I  replied;  "but  the  man  who 
made  that  can  make  another.  It's  Hobson's 
choice  with  me.  I've  taken  a  fancy  to  that  hat ; 
so  it  or  none." 

"Well,"  answered  he,  "the  figure  is  seven 
fifty,  and  if  you  will  have  it,  I  must  send  round 
and  get  another  fixed  up." 

I  paid  the  money  and  went  home  rejoicing, 
the  possessor  of  at  least  the  counterpart  of 
the  mysterious  hat  which  had  haunted  me  for 
months. 

That  very  night  there  was  a  grand  affair  at  the 
Pavilion,  on  the  North  Side.  About  nine  o'clock 
I  put  on  my  new  hat  and  went  over.  I  was  soon 
in  the  thick  of  the  crowd,  looking  round  anxious- 
ly, expecting  every  moment  to  see  my  alter  ego 
make  his  appearance,  and  speculating  as  to  what 
his  feelings  would  be  when  he  found  another 
Richmond  in  the  field. 

I  felt  a  slight  tug  at  my  coat ;  I  turned  round, 
there  was  no  one  there  whom  I  knew,  so  I  took 
no  further  notice.  I  drew  nearer  to  the  music 
platform.  Again  I  felt  a  decided  pull  at  my 
coat-tails.  I  looked  round  again,  but  saw  no 


The  Man  with  the  Comical  Hat.        183 


one  who  could  have  thus  wished  to  attract  my 
attention.  I  got  interested  in  the  music,  I  was 
lost  in  thought,  for  sweet  sounds  always  make 
me  pensive;  not  that  I'm  saddest  when  I  sing, 
for  I  could  never  strike  a  successful  note  in 
my  life,  but  all  at  once  I  felt  another  most 
decided  tug  at  my  tail  pocket.  I  put  my  hand 
behind  me. 

What  was  this?  The  pocket  had  evidently 
grown  bulky.  I  put  my  hand  in,  and  the  first 
thing  it  came  in  contact  with  was  a  watch. 
Diving  lower,  there  was  another;  and  lower 
still,  a  fairly  plethoric  pocket-book. 

"  Oh  ho,"  thought  I  to  myself,  "here  is  a  little 
game  up,  of  which  I  must  learn  the  mystery," 
and  I  quietly  proceeded  to  establish  myself  within 
the  shadow  of  a  pillar. 

Had  I  been  a  pawnbroker's  shop  I  couldn't 
have  be^n  more  filled  with  miscellaneous  objects 
of  value.  My  pockets  became  so  weighted  that 
I  wonder  the  waist  seams  didn't  give  way.  I 
was  a  perambulating  jewelry  store,  a  small  hab- 
erdashery repository,  a  savings  bank,  in  which 
somebody  unknown  was  depositing  small  sums 
without  taking  them  out  of  their  purses.  I  was 
a  Fidelity  Safety  vault  on  a  limited  scale.  The 


184  Suppressed  Sensations. 


inflooding  of  wealth  was  becoming  monotonous, 
and  the  pockets  would  scarcely  hold  more,  when 
I  luckily  espied  Seavey  enter  the  gardens.  He 
knew  me,  and,  giving  him  a  well  known  signal, 
he  went  but  and  I  followed. 

We  went  to  a  safe  retreat,  and,  there  I  un- 
bosomed my  mind  and  my  coat  tails.  The  plun- 
der I  had  accumulated  was  wonderful,  and  both 
of  us  were  non-plussed.  We  could  not  under- 
stand it. 

"What  a  queer  hat  you  have  on,"  said 
Seavey. 

"That's  it,  by  jingo,"  I  replied;  "it's  all  in 
that  hat,"  and  then  I  told  him  its  history. 

We  tumbled  to  the  racket,  and  having  placed 
all  my  miscellaneous  wealth  in  his  hands,  he 
proceeded  to  set  me  again.  Placing  a  few  de- 
tectives round  me,  several  hauls  of  small  boys 
were  soon  made. 

They  picked  up  the  unconsidered  trifles  and 
deposited  them  with  the  man  with  the  comical 
hat,  and  were  appropriated  by  the  police  as  they 
retreated  from  my  pockets. 

From  one  whose  fears  got  the  better  of  his 
caution  all  the  little  game  was  obtained,  and 
such  a  museum  as  the  house  of  the  "fence" 


The  Man  with  the  Comical  Hat. 


185 


proved  to  be  is  not  frequently  seen.  The  man 
who  wore  the  comical  hat  managed  in  some  way 
or  other  to  find  out  that  he  was  "wanted,"  and 
moved  from  the  scene.  Doubtless  the  pick- 
pocket fraternity  of  Chicago  have  before  this 
discovered  some  other  equally  ingenious  method 
ol  marking  the  man  with  whom  they  place  their 
goods. 


LEAF    X. 


TRUE  LOVE  AND  FALSE  FRIENDSHIP. 


OUD  was  the  hubbub  in 
\)  the  fashionable  circles 
of  Chicago,  when  Mrs. 
Pardoe,  a  reigning  fa- 
vorite, filed  her  bill  for 
divorce  in  the  Circuit 
Court.    She  had  only 
been  married  a  few 
months.     Her  hus- 
band  was    a  pros- 
perous commission 
merchant  on  South 
Water  street.      He 
was  passionately  fond 
of  his  young  and  beautiful 
wife,  and  was  unremitting  in 
his  efforts  to  make  their  house 
on  West  Congress  street  one  of 
the    prettiest    and    most    attractive 
homes  in  the  city.     The  neighbors  were  enthusi- 

(187) 


188  Suppressed  Sensations. 

astic  in  their  predictions  of  a  long  lease  of 
happiness  for  the  newly  wedded  pair,  whose 
domestic  horizon  looked  calm  and  bright  and 
cheerful. 

The  thunderbolt  came  from  a  clear  sky.  There 
had  been  no  lowering  clouds  of  connubial  dis- 
cord, no  murmurings,  no  bickerings  or  other 
harbingers  of  a  domestic  storm.  Everything 
appeared  to  be  running  as  calmly  and  smoothly 
as  usual,  when  the  crash  came.  For  several 
weeks,  this  sudden  disruption  in  an  apparently 
happy  household  was  eagerly  discussed  by 
society  people.  All  kinds  of  theories  were  ad- 
vanced, and  many-tongued  rumor  soon  gave  rise 
to  stories  of  a  sensational  nature.  The  parties 
to  the  suit  were  extremely  reticent,  and,  finding 
little  food  for  their  prurient  curiosity,  the  gossips 
eventually  dropped  the  case,  and  sought  other 
employment  for  their  ready  tongues. 

An  investigation  of  the  papers  filed  in  court 
threw  no  definite  light  on  the  motives  which  in- 
fluenced Mrs.  Pardoe  in  applying  for  a  divorce. 
The  bill  was  brief  and  guarded  in  its  language. 
It  simply  declared  that  the  marriage  was  the 
result  of  misrepresentations  on  the  part  of  Par- 
doe  ;  that  the  petitioner  could  no  longer  love  and 


True  Love  and  False  Friendship.        189 

respect  her  husband,  who  had  used  underhand 
means  to  win  her  affection ;  and  that  a  general 
incompatability  of  tastes  and  temper  existed, 
which  was,  in  itself,  a  sufficient  ground  for  sepa- 
ration. 

For  some  reason  or  other,  this  peculiar  docu- 
ment never  found  its  way  into  the  newspapers. 
Indeed,  after  speculating  on  the  case  a  few  days, 
the  reporters  dropped  it  as  unprofitable,  and  up 
to  this  time  the  inside  history  of  this  somewhat 
remarkable  and  romantic  divorce  suit  has  never 
been  told. 

No  cross-bill  was  filed  by  Mr.  Pardoe.  He  did 
not  appear  to  defend,  and  in  due  course  the 
decree  was  granted,  and  Mrs.  Emily  Pardoe  was 
free  to  marry  again. 

Soon  afterwards  the  divorced  wife  was  seen 
often  in  the  company  of  James  Atkins,  a  young 
and  rising  lawyer,  and  formerly  a  fast  friend  of 
Pardoe.  Atkins  had  been  traveling  in  Europe 
two  years,  and  returned  to  Chicago  about  the 
time  the  divorce  proceedings  were  instituted. 
Six  months  after  the  separation  of  Mr.  and  Mrs, 
Pardoe,  Atkins  was  quietly  married  to  the  latter. 

This  proceeding  started  anew  the  busy  tongue 
of  scandal.  There  were  dark  hints  and  whispers 

13 


190  Suppressed  Sensations. 


of  a  former  intrigue.  But  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Atkins 
settled  down  in  a  neat  little  house  on  the  South 
Side,  and  the  correctness  of  their  lives  and  un- 
doubted happiness  soon  silenced  these  scanda- 
lous stories.  It  is  seven  years  since  their  mar- 
riage, and  not  a  cloud  has  overshadowed  their 
peaceful  hearth. 

The  facts  relating  to  the  divorce  and  remarriage 
were  given  me  by  a  friend  of  the  second  husband, 
on  condition  that  I  should  keep  them  to  myself 
for  awhile.  As  it  is  now  several  years  since  the 
revelation  was  made,  I  think  I  may  fairly  con- 
sider myself  absolved  from  the  promise,  and  at 
liberty  to  tell  what  I  know  about  a  case  which 
created  so  much  wonder  and  surprise  wheir  it 
occurred. 

William  Pardoe,  the  first,  and  James  Atkins, 
the  second,  husband  of  Emily  Frazer,  were  close 
friends  a-nd  companions — prior  to  the  departure 
of  the  Latter  for  Europe.  They  had  passed 
through  college  together,  and,  on  starting  out  on 
the  real  battle  of  life,  they  set  up  bachelor1  s  hall 
in  rooms  on  Michigan  avenue.  Both  were  fairly 
successful  in  the  career  they  had  mapped  out, 
and  for  both  the  future  seemed  bright.  Both 
knew,  and  unhappily  both  learned  to  love,  the 


True  Love  and  False  Friendship.        191 


same  woman .  Emily  Frazer  was  a  girl  distin- 
guished even  more  for  her  accomplishments  of 
mind  than  for  her  personal  beauty,  though  that 
was  far  greater  than  falls  to  the  lot  of  most 
women.  She  was  the  acknowledged  belle  of  her 
circle,  but  though  the  recipient  of  the  warmest 
admiration  of  many,  it  was  long  before  she 
-could  be  brought  to  select  one.  When  she  did, 
the  fortunate  man  was  James  Atkins. 

The  announcement  of  the  engagement  was 
made,  and  from  no  one  did  the  affianced  groom 
receive  more  apparently  hearty  congratulations 
than  from  his  life-time  friend,  Pardoe.  What- 
ever the  latter  may  have  felt,  he  carefully  sup- 
pressed. He  was  naturally  of  a  close  and  quiet 
disposition,  and  very  reserved  in  manner  —  the 
exact  antithesis  of  his  rival  in  love.  Atkins  was 
open-handed  and  open-hearted  to  a  fault.  If  he 
met  with  good  fortune,  he  published  it  far  and 
wide;  if  with  hard  luck,  all  must  know  it.  He 
seemed  as  if  he  must  have  some  one  with  whom 
to  share  his  thoughts  and  confidences,  and  who 
.so  naturally  chosen  as  his  boyhood's  friend? 
Pardoe  became  the  recipient  of  his  hopes  and 
fears,  his  dreams  and  longings;  and  when  urgent 
business  necessitated  a  journey  to  Europe,  and 


192  Suppressed  Sensations. 


Atkins  left  his  intended  bride  and  his  friend,  it 
is  hard  to  say  from  which  he  parted  with  the  most 
regret.  His  promises  to  write  by  every  mail  to 
the  one,  were  supplemented  by  engagements  to 
correspond  freely  with  the  other,  and  he  only 
asked  his  friend  to  let  him  know,  from  time  ta 
time,  how  Miss  Frazer  bore  the  separation. 

Atkins'  absence  in  Europe  was  extended  over 
a  much  greater  length  of  time  than  he  had  calcu- 
lated upon  when  he  left  Chicago.  In  Naples,  he 
met,  for  the  first  time  in  many  years,  with  a  dis- 
tant relative,  and  as  ill-luck  would  have  it,  this 
relative  fell  sick.  Atkins  was  compelled  to  break 
off  his  trip,  for  the  illness  of  his  friend  proved  a 
serious  and  protracted  one,  and  for  several  weeks 
his  letters  ceased.  When  Miss  Emily  finally  re- 
ceived one,  it  was  but  a  brief  note  stating  that 
Atkins  was  going  with  his  cousin  to  a  small  sea- 
port town  in  Sicily,  and  that  he  would  write  at 
length  immediately  on  reaching  there.  She  never 
received  another  letter  from  him.  Anxiety  was 
succeeded  by  doubt;  and  doubt  deepened  into 
suspicion.  Eight  months  from  the  date  of  the 
last  letter,  Emily  Frazer  received  a  dusty  packet 
of  unmistakeably  foreign  appearance,  and  post- 
marked Civita  Vecchia.  It  was  a  copy  of  Galig- 


194  Suppressed  Sensations. 


nan£  s  Messenger,  and  in  it  she  read  the  following 
notice: 

"MARRIED — On  the  8th  inst.,  at  the  Chapel  of  the  American 
Embassy,  Turin;  James  Atkins, Esq.,  of  Chicago,  U.  S.,  to  Marie 
Josephine,  Countess  of  Tibault,  and  widow  of  the  late  General 
Tejedi,  of  the  Royal  Austrian  Cuirassiers." 

The  fatal  story  broke  at  once  upon  her  mind; 
her  faithless  lover  had  been  attracted  by  the 
charms  of  some  lady  of  rank  and  wealth,  and  had 
thrown  his  vows  to  the  winds.  She  was  a  woman 
of  spirit  as  well  as  beauty,  and  with  her  to  think 
was  to  decide.  Wounded  and  stricken  though 
she  was,  she  was  too  proud  to  show,  even  to  her 
nearest  and  most  confidential  friends,  how  the 
blow  affected  her.  She  was  not  one  to  "  wear  her 
heart  upon  her  sleeve  for  daws  to  peck  at,"  and 
to  her  the  evidence  of  faithlessness  was  perfect. 
None  could  doubt  the  announcement  in  Galig- 
nani,  and  yet  the  sequel  will  show  that  it  was.  a 
fatal  error  to  act  as  Emily  did  on  such  evidence. 

The  conduct  of  Pardoe  since  the  departure  of 
his  friend  had  been  perfect.  He  often  met  Miss 
Frazer  in  society,  but  with  great  delicacy  refrained 
from  pressing  upon  her  attentions  which  must 
have  embarrassed  her.  Yet  so  well  did  he  pJay 
his  cards  that  his  relations  to  Emily  were  almost 


True  Lorn  and  False  Friendship.        195 

of  a  confidential  nature.  The  generous  Atkins, 
in  his  earlier  letters,  had  spoken  much  of  his 
school  friend  and  college  companion,  and  had 
in  the  fullest  degree  expressed  his  confidence  in 
him.  When,  therefore,  Pardoe  requested  an  in- 
terview with  her  two  or  three  days  after  she  had 
received  the  foreign  newspaper,  and  drawing  from 
his  pocket  a  letter  which  he  said  he  had  received 
from  an  artist  friend  in  Rome,  read  out  to  her  a 
few  sentences  confirmatory  of  the  paragraph,  the 
last  hope  fled. 

The  loving  Emily  became  changed.  Her  pride 
revolted  against  the  treatment  to  which  she  be- 
lieved she  had  been  subjected.  It  is  no  wonder 
then  that  Pardoe  found  it  an  easy  task  to  per- 
suade her  that  the  best  way  to  show  the  world 
that  the  defection  of  her  affianced  had  not  preyed 
upon  her  mind,  was  to  at  once  accept  and  marry 
him.  He  appealed  to  her  pride  rather  than  her 
love,  satisfied  that  once  married  all  would  be 
well.  The  girl  listened,  consented,  and  they 
wejre  wed. 

As  we  have  said,  the  domestic  happiness  of  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Pardoe  seemed  complete  until  the  crash 
came.  Pardoe  forgot  in  his  new-found  bliss  the 
inevitable  Nemesis  that  was  pursuing  him,  and 


196  Suppressed  Sensations. 


trusted  that  if  Atkins  ever  should  return  to 
Chicago  he  would  be  able  to  prevent  a  meeting 
with  his  wife.  There  is  no  doubt  that  he  loved 
her,  for  he  had  dared  much  for  her,  and  he  fondly 
hoped  that  come  what  might  she  would  not  turn 
against  him.  With  many  women  this  might  have 
been  so,  but  not  with  Emily. 

Pardoe  was  seated  in  his  office  one  afternoon, 
when  his  clerk  informed  him  that  a  gentleman 
had  called,  but  finding  Pardoe  out  had  expressed 
his  intention  of  calling  at  his  private  residence. 
"  He  left  his  card,"  continued  the  employe,  "and 
said  he  would  look  you  up  at  once.  He  has  gone 
to  your  house  now."  Pardoe  gazed  in  terror  at 
the  piece  of  pasteboard,  for  it  bore  the  name  of 
Atkins.  Three  hours  later  the  dreaded  explana- 
tion had  been  made.  Pardoe  broke  down  when 
confronted  by  his  indignant  friend  and  cruelly 
wronged  wife,  and  confessed  his  double  treachery. 
He  it  was  who  intercepted  the  letters,  who  had 
procured  the  publication  in  Galignani,  and  had 
poisoned  the  mind  of  Emily  against  her  true 
lover. 

Atkins  took  the  only  manly  and  sensible  course. 
He  gave  Pardoe  the  alternative  of  resigning  his 
claims  and  consenting  to  the  obtaining  of  a 


True  Love  and  False  Friendship.        197 

divorce,  or  of  going  to  the  Penitentiary  for  the  vio- 
lation of  the  United  States  laws,  involved  in  the 
theft  of  the  letters.  Thus  it  was  proposed  to  sup- 
press all  scandal  in  the  one  case,  but,  rather  than 
let  the  guilty  escape,  the  fullest  publicity 
would  be  given  to  the  facts.  Pardoe  fought  hard 
against  these  terrible  terms,  but  when  the  woman 
he  had  cheated  and  wronged  assured  him  that 
under  no  circumstances  would  she  spend  another 
night  under  his  roof,  he  surrendered  at  discretion. 
The  plan  then  agreed  upon  was  carried  out  to 
the  letter,  and  the  truth  of  this  romance  of  three 
lives  is  told  to-day  for  the  first  time. 


LEAF    XI. 


"PIZUN  JACK"  OF  TEXAS. 


FEW  days  ago, 
after  returning 
from  a  Western 
trip,      I      was 
startled  by  the 
receipt  of  the  fol- 
lowing letter : 


"  DENVER,  Aug.  14, 1879. 
"Dear  Basso  Prof  undo : — 
You  have  doubtless  heard  of 
the  sad  death  of  our  mutual 
friend    and     companion,    Jack 
Finehart.  You  are  the  possessor 
of  the  only  picture  of  him  now  in 
existence,  and  I  beg  of  you,  out  of 


friendship  to  myself  and  his  relatives,  to  forward  the  same  to 
me  by  mail,  that  I  may  have  a  few  copies  made  of  it.  The 
original  I  will  take  pleasure  in  returning  to  you. 

"  Sincerely  your  friend,  L.  B." 

(  199) 


200  Suppressed  Sensations. 


The  information  conveyed  by  this  note  was  a 
solemn  surprise  to  me.  Scarcely  two  months  be- 
fore I  had  seen  Jack  in  Denver,  hale  and  hearty, 
and  as  reckless  as  ever.  He  formed  one  of  a  gang 
of  bright,  careless  and  reckless  spirits,  with  whom 
every  Bohemian  was  acquainted,  and  who  pos- 
sessed the  genial,  social  qualities  which  every 
Bohemian  admires.  Many  a  pleasant  evening 
did  we  pass  together,  and  many  a  jovial  song 
and  mirth-rousing  jest  disturbed  the  slumber- 
ing citizens  when  Jack  and  Les  and  Dick  and 
Harry  (to  say  nothing  of  the  humble  chron- 
icler) were  out  with  the  lark  and  the  festive 
banjo. 

I  think  this  leaf  can  not  be  better  filled  than  by 
a  brief  sketch  of  Finehart,  who  was  one  of  the 
most  fearless,  reckless  and  daring  characters  that 
the  West  ever  produced.  In  his  melancholy 
moods,  which  if  not  frequent  were  intense  while 
they  lasted,  Jack  confided  many  items  of  his 
history  to  the  writer,  revealing  a  degree  of  senti- 
ment and  romance  for  which  his  boon  compan- 
ions never  gave  him  credit.  It  was  during  one 
of  those  spasms  of  sentiment  that  he  gave  me 
the  pencil  sketch  of  himself  (which,  by  the 
way,  was  executed  by  Mulvaney,  of  New  York) 


"Pizun  Jack"  of  Texas.  201 

that  is    reproduced    at    the    beginning    of   this 
leaf. 

Finehart  was  a  man  of  about  40  years  of  age — 
a  Texan  by  birth  and  bringing  up  ;  a  Texan  in 
his  instincts  ;  a  typical  Texan  in  his  manners  ;  a 
Texan  in  his  method  of  carrying  a  revolver  (fully 
cocked  and  hanging  from  a  belt  behind) ;  a  Texan 
in  his  record  ;  a  thorough  Texan  "  son  of  a  gun." 
He  approached  nearer  the  ideal  of  a  frontier 
character  than  any  one  I  ever  met.  He  was 
almost  six  feet  tall,  with  not  an  ounce  of  super- 
fluous flesh,  possessed  of  a  clear-cut,  determined 
face,  stern  as  the  countenance  of  justice ;  a  man 
whose  immense  strength  was  hidden  in  the  finish 
of  his  proportions.  He  walked  with  military 
erectness  and  saluted  his  acquaintances  with  easy 
courtesy.  His  large  moustache  and  broad,  white 
hat  set  him  off  to  peculiar  advantage.  No  one 
meeting  Ja^k  for  the  first  time  could  fail  to  be 
impressed  by  his  appearance  and  curious  as  to 
his  history. 

The  earliest  days  of  the  man' s  life  were  prob- 
ably the  most  exciting.  Twenty  years  ago  blood 
was  spilled  as  freely  as  water  all  over  the  West. 
Deeds  that  history  shudders  to  relate  were  on  the 
town  annals  of  every  hamlet.  The  frightful  moral 


202  Suppressed  Sensations. 


abandon  of  border  life  in  Texas  now  is  scarcely 
worthy  of  notice  in  comparison  with  the  life  of  a 
score  of  years  ago,  when  Jack  Finehart  was  a 
lad.  He  had  a  fine  field  to  study  in,  and  he  was 
well-bred.  He  started  his  oemetery  before  cross- 
ing the  threshhold  of  manhood,  and  before  the 
down  left  his  cheek  murder  was  no  novelty  to 
him. 

Finehart  was  often  a  leader  of  desperate 
people,  and  death  came  to  him  a  hundred  times, 
hovered  about  him,  flirted  with  him,  all  but  took 
him,  and  then  departed.  He  did  not  rob  railroad 
trains,  coaches,  horsemen,  foot  travelers,  nor 
anybody  else,  but  he  quarreled  and  drank  and 
killed,  and  lived  along  the  frontier  towns.  When 
the  war  broke  out,  he  had  acquired  that  perfect 
fearlessness  and  indifference  to  death  that  in 
some  men  accustomed  to  facing  it  becomes  an 
absolute  passion,  urging  them  madly  on  to  where- 
ever  a  prospect  of  ending  life  exists. 

Finehart  selected  for  his  posts  in  the  war  the 
most  foolhardy,  dangerous  and  death-tempting 
that  could  be  conceived.  He  ran  powder  trains  ; 
made  journeys  of  exploration  at  the  rate  of  sev- 
enty miles  an  hour  to  see  if  the  railroads  had  been 
torn  up ;  entered  the  Union  camps  at  all  points ; 


"Pizun  Jack"  of  Texas.  203 

led  forlorn  hopes ;  was  always  at  the  front  in  a 
skirmish ;  scouted  and  spied  until  the  business 
palled  upon  him  ;  and  mixed  himself  up  in  rail- 
road affairs  until  no  undertaking  was  too  haz- 
ardous for  him.  £ 

Once  he  started  to  cross  a  river  the  bridge 
over  which  tottered  and  appeared  about  to 
fall,  having  been  burned  by  the  Union  troops. 
Everybody  left  the  engine,  and  Jack  plunged 
over  the  frail  structure  alone.  The  bridge 
went  down,  and  Finehart  jumped  and  swam 
ashore. 

There  was  a  great  bully  in  Jack's  regiment, 
whose  prowess  was  not  limited  in  any  direction. 
He  had  frequently  killed  his  man ;  in  fact,  he 
enjoyed  killing  his  man  ;  it  was  a  very  appetizing 
thing  to  do.  In  those  days  in  Texas  (the  fellow 
was  a  Texan)  you  could  serve  your  time  to  the 
butchering  business  without  suffering  any  annoy- 
ance from  the  Justice  of  the  Peace.  He  used  to 
boast  of  his  beautiful  cemetery  in  Texas,  and 
declare  his  intention  of  going  back  to  continue 
the  work  of  populating  it. 

One  day,  Jack  Finehart,  who  watched  his  col- 
league in  the  graveyard  business  with  a  great 
deal  of  interest,  happened  to  be  in  a  saloon  with 


204  Suppressed  Sensations. 


him.  The  man  had  hardly  ceased  relating  some 
wonderful  adventures  in  which  he  figured  as  the 
hero,  when  Jack  drew  an  enormous  pistol,  cocked 
it  and  laid  it  on  the  bar  beside  the  fellow,  who 
first  stared  at  the  pistol  an^  then  at  its  owner. 
Finehart  filled  a  glass  with  whisky  and  retiring 
a  few  steps  tasted  it.  Then,  facing  the  bully,  he. 
remarked  in  his  easy  manner : 

"  They  call  this  good  whisky.  Smell  of  it 
and  give  me  your  opinion."  With  this  he 
dashed  the  contents  of  the  tumbler  into  the 
other's  face. 

There  lay  the  revolver  at  the  insulted  man' s- 
elbow ;  there  stood  Finehart  waiting  to  be  shot 
dead.  Every  one  expected  a  tragedy. 

To  the  great  astonishment  of  the  spectators, 
who  had  some  faith  in  the  bully's  pluck,  the  fel- 
low did  not  move,  but  wiped  the  whisky  from 
his  face  in  astonished  silence.  This  cowardly 
behavior  was  more  than  Jack  could  stand.  He 
stepped  up,  grabbed  the  pistol,  and  planting  the 
muzzle  between  the  man's  eyes,  cried  in  a  voice 
of  thunder : 

"  Now,  damn  you,  apologize  for  your  lies,  and 
slope." 

The  man  made  the  most  abject  of  apologies, 


"Pizun  Jack"  of  Texas. 


left  the  saloon  hurriedly,  and  was  never  seen  in 
the  neighborhood  again. 

On  another  occasion  Jack  and  a  friend  were 
sleeping  in  a  log  cabin  on  the  prairies  in  Texas, 
keeping  dark  for  gime  very  good  reason.  Sud- 
denly, in  the  middle  of  the  night,  they  heard 
voices  outside.  Said  Jack,  with  his  habitual 
drawl : 

"Let's  see  who  they  are."  His  friend  was 
already  looking  out. 

"  Jack,"  he  exclaimed,  "  they've  got  a  rope  !  " 

Jack  paused,  thoughtfully  felt  of  his  neck,  and 
drawled,  "Don't  be  scared  ;  it's  me." 

He  knocked  out  the  cartridges  of  both  of  his 
revolvers  and  replaced  them  with  others.  He 
then  felt  of  his  bowie  knife  and  made  a  number 
of  rapid  and  exhausting  movements  to  ascertain 
if  he  was  stiff  or  out  of  condition.  Meanwhile 
voices  \\2re  heard  crying,  in  different  keys, 
"Jack,"  "Jack  Finehart,"  "Come  out,  you 
damned  Texan." 

"  Come  in,  boys,"  he  drawled,  getting  his  tools 
ready.  Just  as  he  stepped  out,  with  a  cocked 
pistol  in  each  hand  and  a  bowie  knife  in  his 
mouth,  there  was  a  roar  of  laughter  from  the 
crowd. 

14 


206  Suppressed  Sensations. 

It  was  moonlight,  and  Jack  was  arrested  in  the 
act  of  opening  fire.  The  leader  of  the  crowd  told 
him  they  simply  wanted  his  assistance  to  run  a 
noted  horse  thief  off  to  Cotton  wood. 

Jack  put  up  his  weapons  in^reat  dudgeon  and 
disappointment. 

On  another  occasion  Finehart  was  in  a  New 
Mexico  bar-room.  A  young  New  Yorker  was 
talking  a  good  deal,  and  Jack  in  his  drawling 
Texan  humor  or  indifference  (the  quality  resem- 
bles either)  offended  and  insulted  him  without 
intent.  Finally,  the  New  Yorker  drew  a  seven- 
chambered  pea- shooter  and  discharged  every 
barrel  at  Finehart.  The  desperado  received  the 
shots  without  moving  a  muscle.  Then,  drawing 
quickly  a  pistol  a  foot  long,  he  knocked  the 
pea-shooter  out  of  the  youngster's  hand,  and 
said: 

"  Stranger,  buy  a  gun  that  won't  disgrace  the 
country,"  and  thus  saying  Jack  deliberately  put 
up  his  revolver,  never  even  looking  to  see  where 
the  New  Yorker' s"  shots  struck. 

A  young  man  once  befriended  Jack,  and  won 
his  heart  forever.  Finehart  was  like  a  woman, 
except  that  the  emotion  he  felt  he  was  ashamed 
to  show.  He  heard  of  some  danger  impending 


208  Suppressed  Sensations. 

over  the  head  of  his  friend,  and  for  three  months 
he  dogged  his  footsteps  day  and  night,  ever  hov- 
ering around  him  with  his  trusty  revolvers 
buckled  at  his  belt.  At  last,  one  dark,  wintry 
night,  while  the  young  fellow,  none  the  better 
for  the  liquor  he  had  taken,  was  on  his  way  home, 
tw.o  men,  armed  with  knives,  sprang  out  from  a. 
narrow  alley.  There  was  a  short  struggle,  but 
the  lad  contrived  to  cry  for  help.  "Save  me," 
he  screamed.  "  That's  just  what  Jack  Finehart 
has  been  waiting  three  months  to  do,"  was  the 
answer.  Two  shots  rang  out  on  the  midnight 
air,  and  while  one  of  the  cowardly  assailants  fell, 
face  downward,  on  the  street,  the  other  broke- 
into  a  run,  unchecked  by  a  third  shot  from  the 
pistol  of  the  chivalrous  rescuer. 

Finehart  had  a  powerful  name  in  Texas,  Ari- 
zona, Kansas  and  New  Mexico,  and  there  was 
not  a  gambler  from  Galveston  to  Deadwood  but 
feared  and  respected  the  man  who  bore  it.  An 
expert  gambler,  an  unerring  shot,  and  unequaled 
as  a  companion  on  a  spree,  he  was  nevertheless 
scrupulous!}'  honest,  tender-hearted,  sensitive, 
and  as  easily  moved  to  tears  as  a  woman.  He 
had  a  way  of  subduing  a  gang  of  "hard  men" 
by  walking  unarmed  into  their  midst,  announc- 


"Pizun  Jack"  of  Texas.  209 

ing  his  name  and  telling  them  to  get  oat.  Once, 
in  a  railroad  town  on  the  Union  Pacific,  when  he 
was  none  too  sober  himself,  he  brought  eight 
miserable,  shivering  wretches  out  of  a  wretched 
"dance-house,"  and  ranging  them  in  line  on  the 
street  he  delivered  an  impromptu  lecture  to  them 
on  "The  evils  of  immorality." 

Jack  Finehart  had  one  love  affair,  and  only 
one.  It  was  his  sole  romance  in  life,  and  he 
was  very  chary  of  talking  about  it.  But  I 
learned  the  facts,  and  they  form  a  startling  com- 
mentary on  border  life  and  the  character  of  the 
man. 

He  and  his  brother  both  fell  in  love  with  the 
same  girl,  the  niece  of  an  officer  in  the  regular 
army,  then  stationed  at  Camp  Douglas,  Utah. 
Jack  could  hate  as  well  as  love,  and  he  could 
make  and  keep  a  promise.  He  and  his  brother 
came  to  an  agreement  by  which  both  men 
pledged  themselves  never  again  to  see  or  speak 
to  the  young  lady,  the  penalty  for  a  violation 
of  the  contract  being  that  the  offender  should 
die  at  the  hands  of  the  other.  The  brothers 
shook  hands  over  the  bargain,  and  each  went 
his  way. 

Six  years  after,  Jack  sought  out  his  brother, 


210 ,  Suppressed  Sensations. 


traveling  over  two  thousand  miles  to  do  so.  He 
told  him  quietly  that  he  had  broken  his  oath  and 
wanted  the  compact  kept.  The  brother  remon- 
strated, but  Jack  was  firm  as  adamant  He  had 
forfeited  a  pledge  and  he  was  ready  to  die.  The 
end  of  it  all  was  that  the  two  brothers  met  on  tha 
bank  of  the  Platte  river,  one  lovely  summer 
evening.  Jack  drew  a  heavy  derringer,  cocked 
it,  and  handed  it  to  his  brother.  The  latter 
drew  off  a  few  paces,  leveled  the  weapon,  and 
looked  once  more  at  Jack.  "I  can't  do  it,'"' 
he  said. 

Finehart  stood  there,  solitary,  tall,  his  arms 
folded,  and  an  expression  of  quiet  melancholy  on 
his  handsome  face.  "  I  am  ready,"  was  his  sole- 
reply.  The  brother  leveled  the  pistol,  took  de- 
liberate aim  and  pulled  the  trigger.  The  car- 
tridge did  not  explode.  Jack  took  one  long  quiet 
look  at  it,  and  seeing  his  brother  about  to  fire 
again,  once  more  gazed  at  the  river.  Suddenly 
the  brother  raised  his  arm,  and  the  deadly  weap- 
on whizzed  through  the  air,  and  found  a  last 
resting-place  beneath  the  turbulent  waters  of  the 
rushing  stream. 

Jack  advanced  in  anger.  "  You  are  a  perjur- 
er," he  said;  "I  would  have  killed  you,"  and 


"Pizun  Jack"  of  Texas.  211 


disdaining  the  proffered   hand   of   his  brother, 
he  strode  rapidly  away.      The  two  never  met 

again. 

#  *  •*  *  *  •* 

At  three  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  his  death, 
he  walked  down  Sixteenth  street  with  a  friend, 
and  remarked  : 

"It's  coming,  coming,  I  feel  it  in  the  air,  but 
I  don't  know  how  it's  coming,  and  I'd  like  to 
know.  I've  got  the  sand  to  die  game,  and  I'll 
die  in  my  boots,  but  I'd  like  to  know  how  it's 
coming." 

"  You  ought  to  go  somewhere,  .Jack,"  said  his 
friend. 

"  Why,  there  ain't  a  spot  in  this  Western 
country  where  'Pizun  Jack'  is  not  in  danger," 
he  replied. 

At  10  o'clock  Jack  was  attending  to  his  duties 
as  yard-master  of  the  Atchison,  Topeka  &  Santa 
Fe  Railroad  at  Denver,  a  position  to  which  he 
had  been  appointed  a  few  days  before.  A  switch 
engine  was  going  down  the  yard  behind  a  passen- 
ger train,  and  Finehart,  knowing  the  engineer 
to  be  a  Denver  and  Rio  Grande  man,  and  being 
naturally  distrustful  of  him,  jumped  on  the  step 
and  rode  along.  The  ricketty  engine  was  going 


*212  Suppressed  Sensations. 


very  fast.  It  went  off  the  rails  and  fell  over, 
and  Jack  Finehart  was  crushed  to  death. 

This  was  the  end  of  one  of  the  most  notorious 
characters  of  the  West.  He  had  seen  death  in 
many  shapes,  and  was  prepared  for  a  violent 
end,  but  neither  himself  nor  friends  thought 
that  his  death  would  be  the  result  of  a  railroad 
accident. 

Only  two  months  ago,  Jack  told  the  writer  that 
he  would  not  see  the  end  of  the  year.  Said  he  : 
"  I  know  it's  coming,  Post,  and  I  am  glad  of  it. 
I've  seen  all  of  this  world  that  I  want  to.  I  ex- 
pect it  from  behind,  but  I'll  die  game.  Nobody 
shall  ever  say  that  Jack  Finehart  showed  the 
white  feather.  When  you  hear  of  my  death, 
Post,  don't  write  any  nonsense  about  me.  Say 
I  died  game,  and  say  there  were  a  wife  and 

daughter  in that,  rough  as  I  am,  I  loved 

better' n  my  life.  Say  that,  old  man,  and  it's  all 
that  Jack  Finehart  asks." 

Jack  did'nt  get  it  from  behind,  but  he  met  a 
violent  death.  Notwithstanding  his  early  indis- 
cretions, he  was  a  man  of  fine  principles,  ever 
ready  to  stand  by  a  friend  and  see  him  through 
the  worst  of  difficulties. 

Towards  the  last,  Jack  seemed  tired  of  his  life. 


'Pizun  Jack"  of  Texas. 


213 


He  had  seen  and  experienced  more  than  most 
men,  and  cared  little  about  leaving  this  mundane 
sphere  in  the  orthodox  fashion.  The  death  he 
met  was  not  what  he  expected  or  wished  for.  A 
bullet  from  a  similar  character  would  have  been 
more  to  his  liking,  and  fulfilled  the  prophecies 
he  was  continually  making  to  his  friends. 

He  now  rests  peacefully  beneath  the  sod,  and 
the  words  "Jack  Finehart,"  on  the  white  stone 
above,  are  all  that  reminds  us  of  the  story  of  a 
man  who  was  brave  and  reckless  in  adventure, 
true  in  friendship,  and  unfortunate  in  love. 


LEAF    XII. 


GLORIA. 


was   a  night  in 
Rome.     The  moon 
in  queenly  splen- 
dor  hung   in   the 
sky,  and  through 
the  narrow  streets 
a  cool  and  grateful 
breeze  played.     The 
sounds  of  an  Italian 
city  came    from  all 
sides,    subdued   and 
musical,  with  a  pleas- 
ant undertone  as  of 
the  falling  of  waters. 
Off  from  the  Corso, 
p-  now  quiet,  the  Tiber 
in  the  moonlight  brawled 
its  yellow  way  to  the  sea,  and  far  away  from 

(215) 


216  Suppressed  Sensations. 

over  the  walls  of  the  city  came  the  distant  sound 
of  bells.  It  was  in  May  ;  all  day  long  the  sweet 
smell  of  flowers  had  blown  in  from  the  Cam- 
pagna.  and  now  in  the  night,  on  the  banks  of  the 
river,  there  floated  tender  waves  odoriferous  with 
the  breathings  of  fields  of  bloom.  On  marble 
steps  that  once  paved  the  way  of  Roman  magnifi- 
cence, from  the  Tiber  to  the  Corso,  there  sat 
groups  of  persons,  idly  lounging  in  the  moonlight. 
A  little  apart  from  the  others  sat  a  girl  and 
boy.  They  could  hardly  be  called  woman  and 
man.  She  was  perhaps  sixteen  ;  he  four  or  five 
years  older.  The  girl  said  little,  but  listened  to 
the  low  voice  of  the  other.  They  were  Americans, 
were  each  with  their  parents,  and  had  first  met  on 
the  steamer  crossing  the  ocean.  Since  that  time 
the  routes  of  the  two  families  had  differed  little, 
and  the  two  had  been  much  thrown  together. 
Their  talk  was  now  of  parting,  and  as  they  sat 
telling  over  the  plans  for  the  future,  the  girl  be- 
came more  and  more  silent.  Irving,  the  young 
man,  with  his  mother  and  aunt,  was  to  go  on  to 
Cairo,  by  way  of  Naples,  and  the  family  of 
Gloria,  the  girl,  was  to  start  next  day  for  Paris. 
It  would  be  an  impertinence  to  repeat  the  conver- 
sation of  these  two  creatures.  There  is  nothing; 


Gloria.  217 

more  sacred  than  the  breathings  from  the  heart 
of  a  pure  young  girl,  and  in  this  girl's  heart  there 
were  secrets  that  might  not  be  breathed  even  to 
the  handsome  youth  who  lay  on  the  marble  at 
her  feet. 

The  experienced  reader  may  feel  surprised  to 
hear  that  they  did  not  talk  of  love.  Gloria  would 
have  blushed  with  shame  at  anything  so  bold, 
and  the  young  gentleman,  who,  indeed,  loved  her 
dearly,  had  still  not  the  assurance  to  talk  of  it. 
In  fact,  to  take  her  hand  at  parting,  or  at  meet- 
ing; sometimes,  perhaps,  to  put  a  shawl  about 
her  shoulders,  were  the  nearest  approaches  that 
he  had  made  to  his  heart's  idol.  She  was  a  ten- 
der, modest  little  lady,  and  he  was  true  man 
enough  to  appreciate  her  tenderness  and  her  mod- 
esty. One  reads  of  the  forwardness  of  American 
young  women  while  traveling  abroad,  but  as  to 
this  charming  creature,  Juliet  by  her  side  would 
have  been  a  hoyden.  The  thought  of  such  a  thing^ 
perhaps  never  entered  her  head,  but  to  have  de- 
livered the  Italian  maid's  speech  from  the  bal- 
cony would  have  been  beyond  the  courage  of 
Gloria,  although  her  girl's  heart  had  little  else  in 
it  than  pictures  of  the  boy,  on  whom  her  melting; 
eyes  were  resting. 


218  Suppressed  Sensations. 


Neither  of  them  was  skilled  in  fine  speeches. 
Possibly  what  they  said  would  look  commonplace 
enough  in  print.  For  over  a  year  they  had  been 
wandering  together :  summer  in  the  British  Isles  ; 
fall  and  winter  in  Germany  and  France,  and  the 
spring-time  in  Italy.  Irving  had  a  boy' s  bright 
heart  for  beauty  of  form  and  color,  and  whether 
it  was  on  Killarney's  charming  lakes,  or  on  the 
plaza  of  the  Schloss  at  Heidelberg,  on  the  slug- 
gish canals  of  Holland  or  the  gay  boulevards  of 
Paris,  his  eyes  found  continually  rising  delights. 
He  was  a  fine  traveling  companion ;  ready  for 
adventure,  tireless  in  the  search  for  what  was  to 
be  seen  ;  he  was  frank  and  generous,  with  nothing 
of  that  muddy  sentiment  which  age  and  expe- 
rience too  often  bring. 

The  good  taste  and  discretion  of  the  youth,  in- 
deed; were  such,  that  almost  from  the  beginning 
the  route  of  the  two  families  had  been  managed 
by  him.  But  now  their  paths  separated  ;  tears 
trickled  down  her  cheeks,  and  one  would  have 
thought  they  were  about  to  part  forever.  His 
heart  lay  like  lead  in  his  breast,  and  yet  it  was 
but  for  a  month  or  two  that  they  were  to  lose 
each  other.  It  might  be  mentioned  here,  that 
there  was  not  the  completest  harmony  in  all 


Gloria.  219 

tilings  in  the  two  families.  Irving' s  mother  was 
bent  on  one  thing :  she  had  made  up  her  mind 
that  she  would  not  go  home  till  she  had  seen  the 
Pyramids  and  the  ruins  of  the  Temple  ;  while 
Oloria's  father  cared  not  a  fig  for  either,  but  was 
tired  of  marbles  and  Madonnas,  and  wanted  to 
get  back  to  the  Grand  Opera  and  Longchamps. 
To  the  heads  of  the  two  families  the  desires  of 
the  younger  members  cut  very  little  figure,  and 
although  Irving  was  not  the  youth  to  be  put 
aside  without  consideration,  his  lively  imagina- 
tion bridged  the  few  weeks  of  separation,  and 
already  there  came  pictures  in  his  mind  of  Gloria 
by  his  side  on  the  return. 

Yet  why  did  these  two  linger  and  wait  and 
shudder  that  at  each  moment  the  call  to  go  home 
would  come  ?  There  was  sweet  music  in  his  voice, 
and  although  it  had  always  sounded  pleasant 
enough,  it  seemed  then  as  though  there  was  some 
strange  undertone  in  it,  some  magic  that  wound 
about  her  heart-strings,  and  the  timid  creature 
shrunk  within  herself  as  her  hands  seemed  to 
.move  towards  him  of  their  own  accord.  All  that 
day  they  had  wandered  about,  dreading  the  com- 
ing of  the  night.  Little  Puritan  as  she  was, 
Gloria's  soul  had  again  and  again  found  sym- 


Suppressed  Sensations. 


pathy  in  the  chanting  of  the  masses  at  the  El 
Jesn,  and  that  very  afternoon  at  vespers,  the 
ehnrchly  melodies  had  carried  aloft  Gloria's 
silent  prayer  that  Heaven  would  send  her  lover 
back  again.  But  now  the  time  had  come  ;  it  was 
the  hour  of  parting.  The  gay  moon  danced  on 
the  bosom  of  the  river  ;  a  nightingale  on  the  other 
bank  poured  forth  a  flood  of  song  ;  the  soft  winds 
chased  across  the  ghostly  palace  yards ;  and 
Rome,  in  her  venerable  glory,  slept  mindless  of 
these  heavy  hearts. 


Gloria. 


221 


1  1. 


NEW   YORK. 


WOMAN  dressed  in  white  satin,  her 
eye  lashes  wet  with  tears,  stood  lean- 
ing against  the  back  of  a  chair  in  a 
room  of  one  of  the  fashionable 
&  hotels  of  New  York.  Her  look  was 
fixed  abstractedly  on  the  hurrying 
crowd  below.  There  were  marks  about 
the  room  by  which  it  could  be  seen  she  was 
an  actress.  A  heap  of  rich  dresses  lay  on  a 
fauteuil.  Gorgeous  masses  of  roses  and  lilies 
were  scattered  about  the  room.  On  the  dressing- 
case  lay  a  profusion  of  jewels  and  costly  orna- 
ments. The  dress  she  wore  was  that  of  Juliet, 
over  which,  coming  from  the  theatre,  she  had  worn 
a  cloak.  Her  female  attendant  had  not  yet  come, 
and  the  ^loak  fell  idly  to  the  floor,  leaving  the 
white  arms  and  bosom  bare.  The  face  would 
have  been  white  too  at  another  time  ;  but  now  it 
was  streaked  and  unnatural.  Tears  had  washed 
tracks  through  the  rouge  and  powder,  and  the 
lashes  no  longer  wore  that  coaly  blackness  which 
the  public  admired.  She  was  a  handsome  woman, 
though,  but  hardly  dark  enough  for  the  daugh- 

15 


222  Suppressed  Sensations. 

ter  of  the  Capulets.  The  woman  was  Gloria,  and 
it  was  her  first  year  on  the  stage.  Her  genius  and 
beauty  had  helped  her  forward  rapidly.  She  had 
had  little  other  influence,  and  already  her  name 
had  been  on  the  bill- boards  of  many  of  the  lead- 
ing theatres  of  the  country.  That  night  had  been 
a  triumph  ;  it  was  her  second  visit,  and  from  the 
crowded  house  there  had  come  round  after  round 
of  applause. 

At  the  final  fall  of  the  curtain,  the  house  waited 
till  the  Romeo  of  the  evening  led  her  to  the 
front.  Her  heart  beat  lightly,  and  when  she 
walked  into  her  room,  there  was  a  sprightliness 
in  her  step  that  told  of  satisfaction.  A  touch  of 
vanity  in  a  young  and  lovely  woman,  is  no  great 
sin,  and  when  Gloria  glanced  at  herself  in  the 
long  mirror,  a  gazer  upon  the  charming  specta- 
cle would  have  readily  forgiven  the  act.  A  letter 
in  a  yellow  envelope,  which  lay  on  the  bureau, 
caught  her  attention.  She  looked  anxiously  at 
the  writing.  The  breaking  of  its  Pandora  seal 
let  loose  a  world  of  trouble.  It  was  the  letter 
within  which  brought  tears  to  her  eyes.  After 
standing  for  a  little,  she  sank  in  the  chair,  buried 
her  face  in  her  hands,  and  silently  the  tears 
trickled  through  her  fingers. 


Gloria.  223 

The  letter,  which  was  badly  written,  and  dated 
five  days  before,  read : 

"  DEAR  LADY  :  The  little  one  died  last  night.  We  did  what 
we  could  for  it,  but  could  not  save  its  life. 

MARY  ASHBURTON." 

There  came  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  the  dress- 
ing-woman came  in.  Nothing  could  better  show 
the  kindness  of  Gloria's  heart  than  the  grief  of 
this  old  woman  at  finding  her  mistress  in  tears. 
Her  person  was  very  tidy,  and  as  she  washed 
the  actress'  face,  and  forced  upon  her  a  tiny  glass 
of  cordial,  it  was  plain  that  she  was  a  tender  and 
sensible  creature.  For  the  first  time,  Gloria 
spoke.  She  put  her  arms  about  the  old  woman's 
neck,  and  sobbed,  "  Oh  Maggie,  Maggie,  my  heart 
is  breaking !  " 

Margaret,  who  knew  nothing  of  the  letter,  and 
who  would  not  have  *i  nderstood  it,  had  she  read 
it,  laid  the  lovely  head  of  Gloria'on  her  shoulder, 
and  soothed  her  as  best  she  might.  From  a 
distance  the  bells  of  a  church  rang  out  the  mid- 
night hour,  and  still  the  head  rested  there.  The 
heart  of  Gloria  was  far  away.  She  was  back  in 
the  green  lanes  of  her  childhood,  and  the  church 
bells  sounded  like  the  old  ones  at  home.  Her 
life,  long  before  she  had  thought  of  the  stage, 


224  Suppressed  Sensations. 

came  before  her.  She  thought  of  when  she  was 
a  girl  of  sixteen,  when  the  world  was  all  bright 
and  beautiful,  and  when  the  future  rolled  away 
a  prospect  brilliant  as  an  Alpine  sunrise.  In  her 
ears  again  was  the  sound  of  a  familiar  voice,  and 
through  the  darkness  of  the  night  there  seemed 
to  come  to  her,  two  eyes  that  long,  long  ago  had 
vanished.  The  diamonds  on  her  neck  glittered 
in  the  gaslight,  the  fire  in  the  grate  turned  the 
lilies  on  the  table  to  a  pink  color,  and  from  the 
roses  a  perfume  stole  over  her  senses.  The  old 
woman  fell  asleep,  and  the  other  was  alone  with 
her  thoughts. 


Gloria. 


225 


m. 

BERLIN. 

HREE  gentlemen  sat  at  a  table  in 
an  alcove  of  the  Orpheum,  in  the 
German  capital.  They  were  Ameri- 
cans, but  one  of  them,  by  his  man- 
ner and  dress,  seemed  less  strange 
to  the  place  than  the  other  two. 
The  Orpheum,  as  the  reader  may 
recollect,  is  in  the  Alte  Jakob  Strasse, 
and  is  one  of  those  highly-gilt  dance 
houses,  to  be  met  with  here  and  there 
in  Europe,  a  sort  of  Jardin  Mabille  under 
glass,  where  the  lamps  are  lit  at  about 
the  time  most  people  go  to  bed,  and 
where  a  gay  mob  dances  until  sunrise.  The 
women  were  of  the  nameless  throng  of  a  great 
city  ;  the  men,  seekers  after  excitement,  from 
every wiiere.  One  of  the  men  was  Irving,  the 
other  two  friends  of  his,  lately  from  America. 
The  can-can  of  the  Orpheum,  although  sufficiently 
wild  and  wicked  to  hush  the  least  pious  of  the 
Jiaushalterinnen  in  the  neighborhood  at  the  mere 
mention  of  it,  seemed  somewhat  flat  to  the  two 
new-comers,  who  already  knew  that  the  more 


226  Suppressed  Sensations. 

conspicuous  dancers  were  hired  acrobats  in  even- 
ing dress. 

The  lights  were  flashed  back  from  a  thousand 
mirrors,  an  orchestra  hidden  in  the  depths  of  a 
bank  of  foliage  discoursed  the  latest  music  from 
Suppe  and  Bilse,  and  from  the  Moorish  arches 
leading  to  the  courtyard  beyond,  there  sounded 
the  pattering  of  fountains.  The  merry  creatures 
of  the  night,  always  mindful  of  the  stern-eyed 
man  in  white  gloves,  with  cocked  hat  under  his 
arm,  who  stood  as  the  representative  of  order  on 
the  floor,  danced  as  though  another  deluge  were 
at  hand.  At  midnight  the  programme  had  fairly 
commenced. 

Five  years  had  worn  away  since  the  night  in 
Rome,  and  Irving  was  still  a  wanderer.  His 
mother  and  aunt  preferred  to  make  their  home 
with  him,  and  when  all  persuasion  to  leave  for 
America  had  failed,  settled  in  a  quiet  villa  near 
the  Thiergarten.  He  had  formed  a  business 
connection  with  a  mercantile  house,  and  there 
was  every  prospect  that  Berlin  would  be  his  per- 
manent abiding  place.  Now  and  then  people 
from  America  would  bring  him  letters  of  intro- 
duction, and  it  was  while  showing  the  city  by 
gaslight  to  two  of  the  latest  comers  that  he  found 


228  Suppressed  Sensations. 

himself  this  night  in  the  Orpheum.  There  was 
refined  society  in  Berlin  and  good  opera,  and  it 
was  not  hard  for  a  man  in  business  to  occupy 
his  leisure  in  a  variety  of  agreeable  ways. 

But  this  most  unreasonable  young  man  could 
not  forget  Gloria.  It  was  Gloria  who  filled  his 
thoughts,  on  whom  his  imagination  dwelt,  and 
without  whom  all  the  world  was  little  more  than 
a  blank.  He  was  too  sensible  to  be  misanthropic, 
and  too  sensitive  to  share  his  sorrow  with  others. 
No  one,  after  the  first  few  months,  had  heard 
him  speak  of  her.  Of  course,  the  two  old  ladies 
near  the  Thiergarten  knew  his  secret,  but  they 
knew  it  only  as  women  will  learn  everything  of 
a  man  with  whom  they  live  day  by  day. 

Gloria,  the  actress,  of  whom  he  read  in  the 
newspapers  from  home,  was  no  longer  to  him  the 
girl  of  years  ago.  As  one  sees  the  wreck  of  a 
splendid  work,  and  traces  in  it  the  outline  of  its 
former  loveliness,  so  Irving  found  in  his  pictures 
of  her  only  that  which  moved  him  to  fresh  grief. 
A  few  words  will  explain  the  change.  On  reach- 
ing Paris,  after  parting  from  thelrvings,  Gloria's 
father  found  a  letter  telling  of  money  losses  in 
America.  They  left  on  the  next  steamer,  and  on 
reaching  home,  it  was  found  that  the  fortunes  of 


Gloria.  22J>- 

the  family  were  gone.  Everything  was  swallowed 
up.  The  world,  to  a  man  who  has  all  his  life 
lived  in  plenty,  is  a  wretched  thing  when  he  finds 
himself  suddenly  poor,  and  not  at  all  worth  the 
having  if  he  is  old  in  the  bargain,  and  so  it  was 
not  long  before  Gloria's  father  took  his  leave 
from  it  unceremoniously. 

Gloria's  mother,  in  her  youth,  had  been  a 
singer.  She  had  not  yet  reached  the  heights  of 
opera  when  her  hand  was  asked  in  marriage,  and 
her  voice  from  that  time  was  only  heard  in  the 
seclusion  of  her  husband's  home.  But  now  she 
could  sing  no  more.  As  her  tears  fell  on  the  face 
of  the  corpse  of  her  husband,  there  was  no  longer 
music  in  her  soul.  To  know  that  her  husband 
was  dead  had  shattered  beyond  mending  the 
harp-strings  of  her  life.  Somebody  told  her  that 
in  Gloria  there  was  the  making  of  a  fine  actress. 
Neither  mother  nor  daughter  could  earn  a  dollar 
at  mechanical  work.  Gloria  had  a  full  share  of 
those  accomplishments  which  grace  a  lady,  but 
bring  no  bread.  There  was  some  little  money 
left,  and  a  famous  teacher  of  acting  was  engaged. 

Hard  lessons,  long  hours  and  severe  drill  soon 
began  to  change  Gloria  into  what  she  was  to  be. 
The  girl  gradually  developed  into  the  woman,  and 


•230  Suppressed  Sensations. 

the  woman  into  the  actress.  Under  all  sorts  of 
stage  names  she  was  brought  before  audiences  in 
small  towns.  Her  natural  timidity  had  long  worn 
off.  Her  teacher  was  a  woman  of  the  world,  a  suc- 
cessful actress,  somewhat  worn  out,  and  noth- 
ing if  not  practical  She  had  herself  climbed 
the  ladder  from  the  ballet,  and  her  conversation 
could  not  but  be  enlightening  to  a  beginner  like 
•Gloria,  who  soon  found  that  Shakespeare's  plays 
and  the  Dictionary  of  Slang  went  hand  in  hand 
behind  the  scenes,  and  that  Balzac's  Corned ie 
Humaine  was  child's  play  to  the  cosmos  of  the 
theatre. 

Soon  Gloria  reached  that  point  where  people 
began  to  preach  to  her.  It  was  the  forerunner  of 
success.  When  the  world  can  no  more  pull 
•down,  it  begins  to  give  advice.  Her  first  season 
was  a  series  of  triumphs.  She  began  to  be  sought 
for  by  managers.  Even  those  from  the  inland 
towns,  who  generally  touch  nothing  theatrical 
till  it  is  worn  out,  put  in  bids  for  her.  But  all 
this  did  not  come  to  pass  without  an  episode. 

An  episode  in  the  life  of  a  young  and  beautiful 
woman  living  in  the  glare  of  the  footlights  can 
have  but  two  endings.  It  was  now  a  year  since 
she  had  heard  of  Irving.  She  had  written  to 


Gloria.  231 

where  she  thought  he  might  be  reached,  but  no 
answer  came  back.  Irving7  a  trip  to  the  Orient 
had  been  lengthened,  and  when  he  again  reached 
Paris  there  was  no  trace  of  Gloria's  family. 
Disgusted  with  himself  for  having  permitted 
Gloria  to  be  lost  to  him  for  a  single  day.  Irving 
set  sail  for  America.  A  year  had  passed  since 
last  he  saw  her.  Some  months  of  this  time  had 
been  taken  up  in  the  East,  and  the  rest  in  search- 
ing about  the  cities  of  Europe  and  in  waiting  for 
answers  from  friends  at  home,  of  whom  he  had 
inquired.  Gloria,  on  taking  to  the  stage,  had 
left  the  city  of  her  childhood,  had  borne  another 
name,  and  it  was  only  in  the  full  publicity  of 
after  years  that  the  great  actress  and  the  bank- 
rupt's  daughter  were  known  to  be  the  same. 
Irving  arrived  in  New  York.  Gloria  was  then 
playing  in  a  city  near  by.  How  close  these 
devoted  souls  were  to  each  other  at  that  hour 
they  ne\  er  knew.  But  near  as  it  was,  the  separa- 
tion was  wide  as  eternity. 

Gloria*  s  mother  had  been  in  an  asylum.  The  old 
lady  had  found  in  drink  a  welcome  obliviousness. 
She  was  unfit  for  the  wrecks  and  storms  of  time. 
There  was  nothing  of  the  Roman  mother  about 
her.  As  one  after  another  of  the  dear  things  of 


* 

V 


232  Suppressed  Sensations. 

earth  passed  away,  she  became  a  ruin  of  her 
former  self.  No  solid  time-defying  ruin,  but,  like 
one  of  those  Gothic  fabrics  whose  slender  foliage 
crumble  in  the  blast,  poor  Gloria' s  mother  passed 
away,  and  the  girl  was  quite  alone.  Alone,  with 
a  heart  crying  out  for  one  who  never  came,  with 
ears  weary  listening  for  footsteps  that  sounded 
only  in  the  imagination,  and  eyes  that  wept  to 
think  that  they  would  nevermore  see  the  dear 
boy  of  her  girlhood  that  bade  her  good-bye  on 
the  Tiber's  steps.  No  moment  so  propitious  for 
an  episode. 

How  the  whereabouts  of  Gloria  came  to  the  ears 
of  Irving,  and  how  there  came  with  it  the  story 
of  a  successful  lover,  need  not  here  be  dwelt  upon. 
The  wretched  man,  at  once  concluding  that  he 
had  been  forgotten  by  her,  buried  his  sorrows 
in  his  breast  and  left  for  Europe.  Four  more 
years  had  slowly  gone  by,  and  on  the  night  when 
Irving  found  himself  with  the  two  young  men  in 
the  Alte  Jakob  Strasse,  it  was  five  years  since  he 
had  left  Gloria  on  the  banks  of  the  Tiber,  in  Rome. 
As  the  band  struck  up  an  air  from  "Mignon," 

^^^H 

"Kennst  du  das  Land,"    Irving  drew  his  two 
friends  with  him  and  left  the  Orpheum  for  home. 


Gloria. 


233 


IV. 
CHICAGO. 

T  was  the  garden  scene  in  "  Romeo 
and  Juliet,"  on  the  stage  of  one  of 
the  leading  theatres  of  Chicago,  and 
Gloria  stood  on  the  balcony,  statue 
like,  in  the  white  lime  light.  The 
honors  of  the  night  had  been  fairly 
divided  with  the  Romeo.  He  was 
robust,  handsome  fellow,  and  played 
the  part  with  so  much  vigor  and  feeling 
that  the  critics,  with  one  accord,  be- 
lieved him  to  be  under  the  influence  of 
liquor,  while  the  house  applauded  him  to  the 
•echo.  The  women  unanimously  voted  him  charm- 
ing, and  for  once  the  men  were  not  wholly  en- 
grossed with  Gloria.  So  fervent  was  the  hero 
that  when  the  closing  speech  of  the  scene  came 
and  the  heroine  threw  him  kisses,  the  house  up- 
roariously called  them  to  the  front.  The  truth 
was,  that  this  Romeo  was  head  and  ears  in  love 
with  Gloria  from  the  first  night  of  his  first  season 
with  her,  and  only  lived  from  day  to  day  in  the 
opportunities  given  him  by  the  play  to  tell  his 


234  Suppressed  Sensations. 

love.  But  the  second  leading  lady  had  also  been 
loved  by  this  Romeo,  and  had  seen  his  new  and 
fierce  love  for  Gloria  with  no  measured  fury. 
Romeo  had  put  up  with  a  variety  of  snubs,  and 
had  even  taken  less  pay  than  he  could  get  else- 
where, in  order  to  be  in  the  same  company  with 
Gloria;  but  the  second  leading  lady  had  under- 
gone still  greater  sacrifices  that  she  might  be 
near  Romeo. 

Gloria  saw  the  evidences  of  his  fondness  for  her, 
but  with  quiet  reserve  held  him  in  check,  and 
gave  him  no  encouragement.  She  was  never  at 
home  when  he  called  at  the  hotel,  and  by  her  tact 
kept  him  continually  at  arm's  length.  The  sec- 
ond leading  lady,  however,  was  spoiling  for 
revenge.  She  was  not  so  young  as  she  had  been, 
her  beauty  stood  daylight  badly,  and  her  pretty 
ways,  her  affected  coyness,  and  her  simulated 
embarrassments,  were  equally  ineffectual  to  bring 
back  her  old  lover.  That  she  had  loved  him  was 
shown  by  the  depth  of  the  hate  which  began  to 
burn  in  her  veins,  and  Clytemnestra-like,  she 
watched  his  every  move,  and  if  there  was  no  dag- 
ger in  her  sleeve,  it  was  because  she  still  fanned 
a  hope  that  he  might  be  again  won  over. 

But  for  Gloria  this  neglected  creature  treasured 


Gloria.  235- 

the  choicest  flowers  of  her  hatred.  There  was 
little  in  her  gift  that  she  would  not  have  parted 
with  to  the  one  who  would  have  shown  her  a 
means  of  wreaking  her  vengeance  on  poor  Gloria' s 
head.  She  had  not  long  to  wait;  things  were- 
coming  to  a  crisis.  Five  years  of  such  work  as 
Gloria  had  done,  began  to  tell  upon  her  strength. 
Her  light  was  still  bright,  but  there  began  to  be- 
an occasional  flicker.  Actresses,  no  matter  how 
high  they  stand,  may  do  many  things  forbidden 
to  other  women,  and  so  long  as  they  keep  out  of 
bankruptcy  and  the  police  reports,  may  keep  a 
stout  heart.  Few  had  heard  of  Gloria' s  episode, 
and  those  few  knew  little.  The  whole  story  never 
came  out,  and  what  was  known  was  well  nigh 
forgotten.  Gloria  had  never  ceased  to  pray  that 
Heaven  would  take  away  her  sin,  and  what  she 
might  do  by  way  of  atonement  she  had  freely 
done.  An  open  hand  for  charity,  and  a  tender 
word  for  the  sorrowing,  were  ever  ready.  And 
thus  she  waited ;  the  love  of  her  girlhood  had 
grown  into  the  engrossing  passion  of  her  life. 
Could  she  but  meet  Irving  again — could  she  know 
that  he  still  loved  her — ah  !  this  was  asking  too 
much,  but  the  hope  that  it  would  be  granted  was. 
all  that  kept  her  lamp  burning. 


236  Suppressed  Sensations. 

It  was  raining  heavily  one  night  after  the  play 
was  out,  and  a  man  in  a  long  cloak,  avoiding  the 
elevator,  hastened  up  the  stairs  of  the  hotel  where 
Gloria  lived.  On  the  heels  of  the  man  came  a 
woman,  cloaked  and  veiled.  It  was  the  Romeo 
of  the  play  come  to  linger  about  Gloria'  s  corridor, 
and  the  woman  was  the  jealous  actress.  He 
caught  a  glimpse  of  her,  recognized  her,  and 
escaped  by  another  stairway  to  the  street.  The 
actress  believed  that  he  had  been  let  into  Gloria's 
room,  but  not  feeling  certain,  and  fearing  to  raise 
an  alarm  lest  her  suspicions  should  prove  untrue, 
she  waited  for  the  next  night.  This  woman 
remarked  the  next  day  that  Gloria  looked  pale 
and  wan,  and  in  truth  she  was. 

The  night  before  Gloria  had  seen  a  man  sitting 
back  in  the  lower  circle,  who  looked  like  Irving. 
The  light  was  dim  where  he  sat,  and  the  open 
frankness  of  his  dear  face  had  changed.  She 
could  not  believe  it  to  be  he,  but  merely  to  think 
that  it  was  filled  her  with  a  joy  such  as  she  nad 
not  known  since  that  Italian  summer's  night. 
The  people  thought  that  she  had  never  played 
Juliet  so  tenderly.  After  the  play,  at  the  hotel, 
she  watched  and  waited,  and  all  the  next  day  she 
listened  for  footsteps.  A  boy  with  a  basket  of 


Gloria.  237 

flowers  caused  her  to  stagger,  and  when  a  card 
from  a  caller  was  brought  to  her  room,  she  trem- 
bled so  that  she  sat  in  a  chair  while  she  read  it. 
That  night  she  would  gladly  have  begged  to  be 
excused  from  the  theatre  but  it  was  the  last  night 
of  the  season. 

Again,  after  the  play,  a  man  in  a  cloak,  followed 
by  a  woman,  glided  up  the  hotel  stairs.  Gloria's 
room  was  on  the  upper  floor,  the  windows 
facing  the  court  yard.  This  man  heeded  not  the 
woman,  but  went  on,  finally  stopping  before  a 
room  nearly  opposite  Gloria's,  which  he  entered, 
leaving  the  door  ajar.  The  room  was  dark. 

The  jealous  actress,  who  was  closely  veiled, 
walked  up  and  down  past  the  door,  and  with 
a  sudden  impulse  burst  into  the  room,  closing 
the  door  and  placing  her  back  against  it.  The 
gas  was  immediately  lit,  there  was  the  sound  of 
voices,  and  for  a  little  while,  silence.  Then  the 
woman  jame  out,  and,  walking  rapidly,  led  the 
man  to  a  room  on  another  part  of  the  same  floor  ; 
they  entered  this  room,  the  woman  pulled  a  chair 
so  that  it  faced  the  window,  and  pushed  the  cur- 
tains aside. 

He  sat  thus  in  the  dark,  waiting. 

Suddenly  a  room  on  the  other  side  of  the  nar- 

16 


238  Suppressed  Sensations. 


row  court  yard  was  lighted,  and  an  old  woman 
entered,  followed  by  Gloria.  It  was  oppressively 
warm.  The  windows  of  both  rooms  were  open, 
reaching  nearly  to  the  floor.  Between  the  walls, 
the  court-yard  opened  to  the  ground.  The  floor 
on  which  these  rooms  were  was  seven  stories  from 
the  flagged  basement.  All  was  dark  but  the  win- 
dows of  Gloria's  room.  The  eye  could  not  pierce 
the  depth  of  the  darkness  between  the  windows. 
It  was  Irving  that  sat  in  the  chair  watching 
Gloria.  As  he  looked,  his  breath  sank  away  and 
his  mouth  grew  dry  ;  then  his  heart  beat  rapidly 

and  his  eyes  moistened.     The  years  rolled  back- 

» 
ward,  and  he  was  a  boy  again.     Gloria  and  he 

were  on  a  gondola,  floating  on  the  Venetian* 
lagoons,  and  Gloria  was  listening  to  the  story  of 
the  Doges;  again  they  were  at  the  foot  of  the 
Matterhorn,  her  dark  eyes  filled  with  tears  at  the 
fate  of  the  luckless  Alpine  climbers.  A  thousand 
pictures  of  those  happy  journeys  glided  before 
him,  and  as  the  winds  brought  the  chimes  from 
St.  James'  tower,  he  thought  that  he  was  again 
under  the  roof  of  some  old  German  inn,  after 
having  bade  Gloria  good  night. 

He  looked  again  at  the  figure  in  the  opposite 
window,  and  an  impulse  seized  him  to  rush  to  her 


Gloria.  239 

and  throw  himself  at  her  feet.  He  could  hear 
the  woman  back  of  him  breathing.  A  wave  of 
cold  air  pulsed  up  from  the  damp  court-yard 
below.  Irving  sat  like  one  dazed  ;  there  was  one 
feeling  which  could  be  separated  from  every 
other,  and  that  was  that  he  wanted  to  look  at 
Gloria.  He  had  not  been  so  near  her  before  since 
that  never-to-be-forgotten  night.  He  cared  noth- 
ing for  what  they  had  said  of  Gloria.  What  if 
she  had  sinned  ?  Were  she  ten  times  worse  than 
this  woman  back  of  him  had  said,  she  was  still 
the  Gloria  that  he  loved ;  the  life  and  soul  of 
his  heart' s  idolatry. 

At  that  instant  the  door  of  the  room  opposite 
opened,  and  a  man  entered.  Gloria,  who  had 
been  resting  her  chin  on  her  hand,  looked  up. 
Irving  followed  the  direction  of  her  head  as  it 
turned.  It  was  the  Romeo  of  the  play.  He  had 
come  in  unannounced.  The  eyes  of  the  woman 
back  of  Irving  almost  shone  in  the  dark.  Irv- 
ing' s  heart  sunk.  It  was  too  far  away  to  hear 
what  was  said. 

The  man  walked  hesitatingly  to  the  middle  of 
the  room.  He  appeared  to  be  speaking,  but  his 
attitude  was  that  of  one  who  pleads.  The  panto- 
mime of  his  gesture  told  the  whole  story.  It  was 


240  Suppressed  Sensations. 

a  terrible  ordeal  for  Irving.  .At  that  late  hour  none 
were  astir.  The  old  dressing-woman  had  gone 
out.  Gloria  was  alone,  with  this  man.  It  seemed 
to  the  wretched  lover  as  if  all  that  was  dear  in 
life  was  to  slip  through  his  grasp  at  that  moment. 

He  stood  up.  He  could  have  leaped  across, 
but  the  hungry  darkness  yawned  below  him. 
He  stood  full  and  fair  in  the  open  window,  the 
light  from  Gloria' s  windows  shining  full  on  his 
face.  The  man  before  Gloria  appeared  to  beg. 
Could  Gloria  but  have  turned  her  head  and 
looked  at  the  opposite  windows.  But  the  poor 
woman  was  alone  and  frightened.  Maybe  she 
would  listen  to  the  man.  All  this  took  a  very 
brief  time.  An  instant  seemed  an  age.  Irving* 
glared.  Then  Gloria  raised  one  arm,  pointed  a 
finger  towards  the  door,  and  after  hesitating  for 
a  second,  Romeo  bowed  and  withdrew. 

Tears  filled  Irving' s  eyes.  He  would  rush  to 
her  room,  and  demand  admittance.  He  was 
about  to  turn  when  he  saw  Gloria  move  towards 
the  window.  He  hesitated.  She  came  forward. 
He  stood  still.  She  pushed  the  lace  curtains 
aside,  and  came  to  the  open  window.  The  light 
was  back  of  her,  but  her  face  looked  out  white 
in  the  darkness. 


As  lightning  flashes  down  the 
midnight  sky,  so  the  glance  of 
Gloria  darted  across  the  dark, 
and  fixed  itself  on  Irving' s  face. 
She  knew  him,  and  he  saw  that 
she  did.  He  stretched  out  his 
arms.  "Gloria!  Glo— !"  he 
called. 
What  came  next  is  almost  too  terrible  to  tell. 


242  Suppressed  Sensations. 

The  unhappy  woman  advanced  abruptly,  and, 
striking  the  low  window-sill  with  her  feet,  fell 
forward.  Almost  before  the  sound  of  her 
lover's  voice  had  ceased,  she  sank,  a  confused 
mass,  into  the  darkness  below. 

Her  shattered  body  was  found  later  by  the 
servants.  Irving  had  swooned,  and  was  after- 
ward found  on  the  floor  by  the  actress,  who  had 
left  the  room  to  meet  the  man  she  had  been  fol- 
lowing. What  became  of  Irving  it  would  be  hard 
to  say.  But  there  is  a  horrible  emptiness  about 
that  rjom  on  the  upper  floor,  with  a  faint  re- 
minder in  the  air  of  the  perfume  that  hung  about 
the  long  hair  of  Gloria,  when  she  was  found  on 
the  courtyard  pavement. 


LEAF    XIII. 


LORD  ULLIFS  DAUGHTER. 


A  lovely  evening  in  mid-summer.  The  soft 
moon  casts  its  faint  light,  and  the  willows  droop 
their  shadows  over  a  scene  as  fair  as  man  ever 
gazed  on.  The  lights  and  shadows  fall  on  a 
picture  old  indeed  as  the  hills — fresh  as  love  in 
youth.  The  sweet  notes  of  the  song-birds,  sub- 
dued and  softened  in  the  twilight,  come  borne 
on  the  light  breeze. 

#  *  *  -A"  *  * 

I  HERE  are  clouds 
in  the  sky,  and 
breathings  of  tem- 
pest   in    the    air. 
The  great  black  mes- 
sengers of  the  Storm 
King  go   rushing  on 
their    wrathful    way 
between  the  sun  and 
earth,    and    come    together 
like  contending  armies,  and  send  the 
forked  lightning  downward  to  herald  the 

(243) 


244  Suppressed  Sensations. 


approach  of  their  mighty  master,  who  is  marshal- 
ing his  forces  along  the  western  horizon. 

The  hour  is  3  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  and  the 
day  one  of  midsummer.  As  the  growl  of  the 
elements  deepens  to  an  angry  roar,  the  reporters, 
who  await  in  the  depot  the  train  which  is  to 
bring  within  their  reach  the  newly  elected  Sena- 
tor from  Wisconsin,  gather  closer  about  the 
ticket  window  and  clamor  to  learn  why  the  day 
express  isn't  "on  time."  The  agent  doesn't 
know,  and,  what  is  more,  doesn't  seem  to  care 
very  much,  so  the  knights  of  the  pencil  are  per- 
force compelled  to  wait  and  abuse  the  road.  The 
writer  is  among  the  number,  and,  out  of  sheer 
idleness  and  disgust  he  wanders  slowly  to  another 
part  of  the  building  to  "loaf  and  invite  his  soul" 
a  la  Walt  Whitman. 

A  man  approaches  through  the  storm,  crosses 
the  street  and  enters  the  door,  letting  in  with  him 
a  torrent  of  the  fierce  white  rain  now  falling  in 
sheets.  It  is  the  train  dispatcher,  and  while  he 
shakes  himself  free  of  the  water  which  drips 
down  about  him  in  puddles,  the  scribe  asks : 
"No  one  here  seems  to  be  informed  as  to  when 
the  express  will  be  in.  You  can  tell,  can' t  you  ? " 

"It's  side  tracked  up  here,  thirty  or  forty 


Lord  U llln^s  Daughter.  245 

miles,  and  the  road  is  free  from  end  to  end. 
There  are  a  couple  of  specials  coming  from  Mil- 
waukee, and  I  tell  you  they  are  making  the  fast- 
est time  this  line  ever  knew." 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"I  don't  know,  and  that's  why  I  left  Jim  to 
run  the  office  while  I  came  over  to  see  about  it. 
One  of  the  specials  was  engaged  yesterday  in  the 
usual  way,  the  other  was  a  local  train  just  ready 
to  make  its  trip,  when  one  of  the  directors  of 
another  road,  so  the  boys  telegraph  me,  came 
tearing  down  to  the  depot  a  few  minutes  after 
the  first  extra  was  gone  and  laid  down  a  cool 
thousand  to  get  this  train  for  a  trip  to  Chicago." 

"  Do  you  know  who  is  on  the  first  extra  ? " 

"It's  a  young  fellow  from  Chicago,  and  by 
putting  this  and  that  together,  I've  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  he's  eloped  with  some  Cream 
City  girl,  and, — yes,  by  Jove  !  that's  it !  I'll  bet 
a  hundred  to  one  the  young  lady's  father  is  on 
the  second  special." 

There  was  a  rumble  of  wheels  without,  and  a 
hack  dashed  up  and  took  position  perilously 
near  the  track.  The  man  on  the  box  sat  still, 
muffled  in  his  rubber  coat,  and  looked  off  down 
the  track  ever  and  anon  with  eager  expectancy. 


246  Suppressed  Sensations. 

It  was  "Dandy  Pat,"  known  by  fame  or  inter- 
course to  all  those  of  the  jeunesse  doree,  who 
from  time  to  time  want  to  take  a  ride  in  a  cov- 
ered carriage  of  which  no  one  shall  know.  That 
"Dandy"  should  stay  with  his  horses,  and 
patiently  bear  the  terrible  pelting  of  the  storm, 
meant  either  that  he  was  getting  good  pay  for  his 
trouble,  or  that  something  was  "in  the  wind," 
which  interested  him  more  than  common.  Now 
a  sensation  was  always  welcome  to  the  city  editor 
of  The  Daily  Thunderer,  and  a  bit  of  exclusive 
news  was  always  joy  to  the  heart  of  whoever  pro- 
cured it.  Inspired  with  these  twin  incentives, 
the  writer  made  his  way  through  the  blinding 
storm  to  the  hack.  It  would  never  do  to  ac- 
knowledge ignorance  of  the  driver's  mission,  or  his 
mouth  would  remain  sealed,  so  a  bold  guess  at 
the  possible  truth  took  the  form  of  the  query, 
"Who  are  you  waiting  for,  Pat,  the  runaways  or 
the  old  man?" 

Dandy  looked  down  from  his  superior  height 
and  swore  a  little.  "  How  the  deuce  did  you  find 
out  what  was  going  on  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Never  mind,  but  I  know  all  about  it,  and  the 
other  boys  don't.  Now  which  is  it,  the  girl's 
father  or  the  lovers  you  are  waiting  for?" 


Lord  Ullin's  DaugJiter.  247 


"  Why,  the  lovers,  of  course.  I  didn't  know 
the  young  'ooman's  parent  had  got  the  news- 
yet." 

"But  he  has,  and  he's  chasing  your  employer 
down  the  road  with  a  special  train,  which  will  be 
here  nearly  as  soon  as  the  one  you  are  waiting: 
for." 

"  Well,  his  chase  won't  do  him  much  good. 

Charley has  his  big  yacht  lying  inside  the 

breakwater,  and  he  and  the  lady  are  going  on 
board  as  soon  as  I  can  draw  them  there.  They've 
got  a  parson,  and  a  permit  to  drive  in  double 
harness,  and  everything  all  correct,  and  once 
they're  hitched  they're  going  up  the  lakes  for  a 
bridal  tower." 

"But  they  can't  start  in  such  a  frightful  storm 
as  this  \ ' ' 

"I  don't  know.  I'm  hired  to  take  them  to  the 
dock,  ard  that  done,  I'm  through  with  the  thing. 
Got  my  pay  in  advance  you  see." 

Above  the  rumble  of  the  thunder  shrieked  the 
alarm  of  the  engine's  whistle,  and  pealed  the 
clangorous  engine  bell.  The  wheels  leaped  from 
rail  to  rail,  and  in  from  the  mist  and  semi- dark- 
ness, like  a  demon  of  fire  and  smoke  and  giant 
might,  dashed  the  great  iron  horse.  It  reached 


248  Suppressed  Sensations. 

the  platform,  stopped,  and  stood  panting  and 
throbbing  from  the  swift  and  stirring  race.  Out 
of  the  car,  and  into  the  hack  sprang  the  fleeing 
couple,  the  door  crashed  to,  Dandy  leaped  to  his 
box  again,  and  away  to  the  Lake  Front  whirled 
the  carriage  with  its  load  of  new-born  human 
hopes  and  fears. 

And  none  too  quickly  had  they  gone,  for  five 
minutes  later  saw  the  second  special  land  its  soli- 
tary passenger  at  the  dingy  depot.  Tall,  gray 
mustached,  accurately  dressed  in  light  summer 
garments,  he  stood  for  an  instant  and  faced  the 
blasts  which  beat  upon  him  with  the  indifference 
of  a  second  Lear.  His  face  was  set  in  an  ex- 
pression of  icy  calm,  and  the  frosty  blue  eyes 
glinted  ominously,  while  the  right  hand  absently 
fingered  something — was  it  a  pistol  ? — which  filled 
a  side  coat  pocket.  He  made  one  or  two  curt 
inquiries,  learned  the  direction  taken  by  the 
fugitives,  and,  entering  another  of  the  cabs,  by 
this  time  lined  along  the  walk,  drove  away  at  the 
top  of  the  horses'  speed. 

If  ever  murder  filled  a  man's  heart,  and 
gleamed  out  from  the  windows  of  the  soul,  it  did 
in  the  case  of  this  quiet,  self-contained  arid 
wealthy  citizen.  Things  were  getting  serious,  and 


250  Suppressed  Sensations. 

the  writer  concluded  that  the  Senator  from 
consin  must  be  dropped  because  of  this  new  and 
possibly  startling  event.  So,  he  too,  rode  away 
for  the  Lake  Front  in  a  carriage,  whose  driver 
had  instructions  to  use  the  whip  and  never  mind 
the  consequences. 

Down  where  the  great  waves  chased  each  other 
up  against  the  shore  the  troubled  sea  and  stormy 
sky  looked  on  at  a  strange  and  novel  spectacle. 
The  father  had  followed  fast,  and  followed  faster, 
but  he  arrived  too  late  for  whatever  purpose  he 
may  have  had  in  view.  The  yacht,  with  every 
sail  set,  was  a  mile  out  on  the  lake,  tossing  like 
a  frightened  bird,  and  fleeing  before  the  wind 
which  now  came  in  fierce  gusts  from  the  south- 
west. 

On  the  shore,  beside  the  parent,  stood  some 
friends  of  the  lovers,  who  looked  out  on  the  wild 
scene  with  more  of  anxiety  than  seemed  to  dis- 
turb the  marble-faced  man  who  had  lost  his  only 
daughter.  As  for  him,  he  shaded  his  eyes  from 
the  spray,  and  then,  turning  on  his  heel,  re- 
entered  the  waiting  carriage  and  gave  the  laconic 
order,  "Take  me  to  the  Tug  Association' s  office." 
His  idea  was  apparent.  He  had  started  on  a 
chase,  he  would  end  it,  as  every  other  under- 


Lord  Ulliri's  Daughter.  251 

taking  of  his  life  had  ended,  successfully.  The 
journalist  also  had  begun  a  task  and  proposed 
to  carry  it  through,  and  when  the  pursuer  reached 
his  destination  he  likewise  was  there,  and  ready 
to  board  whichever  tug  might  be  placed  at  the 
magnate's  disposal. 

"I  wouldn't  advise  you,  sir,  to  go  out  in  this 
weather,"  said  the  agent,  "the  storm  signal  is 
up,  and  the  blow  to-night  will  be  terrific.  But 
as  you  guarantee  us  from  all  loss,  and  the  men 
say  they  are  willing  to  make  the  trip,  I  can  only 
advance  this  bit  of  advice,  and  step  aside." 

"Thank  you,"  was  all  the  gentleman  said,  as 
lie  stepped  aboard  and  entered  the  little  den 
given  over  to  the  wheelsman  and  captain. 

A  reporter,  as  a  matter  of  course,  has  an  ex- 
tremely general  and  promiscuous  acquaintance, 
and  this  particular  tug,  by  chance,  happened  to 
be  one  which  had  carried  the  writer  out  on  old 
Michigan  more  than  once ;  so  a  wink  to  the  open 
mouthed  deck-hand  and  a  nod  to  the  engineer 
settled  the  thing,  and  established  him  without 
remonstrance  by  the  side  of  the  latter  and 
next  to  the  throbbing  heart  of  the  gallant 
little  boat. 

Up  the  river,  and  out  of  the  mouth  went  the 


252  Suppressed  Sensations. 

chase,  and  then  the  mad  waves  scurried  around 
and  over  as  if  to  engulf  this  mosquito-like  in- 
truder on  the  domains  of  the  winds  and  waters. 
Afar  off,  where  the  clouds  stooped  down  to  kiss 
the  foam-capped  billows,  struggled  the  white- 
winged  yacht,  making,  as  best  it  could,  for  the 
distant  farther  shore.  Steadily  we  gained,  and 
soon  pursuer  and  pursued  were  not  more  than  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  apart.  A  sudden  calm  came 
upon  the  elements,  and  the  blackness  of  dark- 
ness dwelt  about. 

The  midnight  clouds  seemed  to  rush  down  on 
the  earth  and  shroud  it  from  view.  Even  the 
horizon  grew  misty  and  indistinct.  The  silence, 
broken  only  by  the  puffing  engine,  was  horrible, 
the  suspense  beyond  description.  I  came  above 
and  looked  in  the  wheelsman's  room  ;  his  face 
was  an  ashen  gray,  and  his  lips  were  white.  "I'd 
give  a  thousand  dollars  to  be  on  good  dry  land," 
he  muttered. 

The  man  by  his  side  smiled  a  wintry  smile. 

"Let  me  take  the  wheel,"  he  said,  "I  have 
commanded  a  ship,  and  I  can  guide  this ;  you 
need  have  no  fear."  And  he  took  the  place  of 
the  terrified  sailor. 

First  he  peered    out    ahead  and  sighted   the 


Lord   Ul  in1  s  Daughter.  253 

yacht,  now  nearer  than  ever  ;  then  he  rang  the 
bell  and  signaled  for  all  speed  to  be  put  on,  and 
then  he  sent  the  tug  straight  at  the  chase.  He 
was  resolved  to  run  it  down. 

Up  from  the  southwest  came  a  moan,  like  that 
of  the  damned,  the  clouds  cleared  away,  and  the 
sea  could  be  seen  rushing  on  us  in  a  vast  titanic 
wall.  The  moan  grew  louder.  It  became  a  yell 
as  of  contending  armies,  the  heavens  grew  white 
with  tongues  of  flames,  the  air  labored  with 
incessant  booming  of  the  thunder.  The  hissing 
rain,  the  whirling  waves  joined  the  wild  uproar, 
and  then  we  were  caught  and  tossed  like  an 
atom  in  the  giant  fury  of  the  awful  tempest.  One 
glimpse,  and  one  only,  we  gained  of  the  yacht. 
Its  sails  were  streaming  forward  in  ribbons,  its 
decks  were  overflowed,  and  it  was  in  the  trough 
of  the  sea,  sideways  to  the  storm,  and  given  over 
to  destruction,  while  above  it  the  blinding  mist 
took  form  as  the  angel  of  death. 

How  we  reached  the  Michigan  shore  that  night, 
and  beat  upon  the  sandy  beach  a  wreck,  with  one 
man  left  behind,  swept  overboard  as  a  tribute  to 
the  wrathful  gods,  does  not  need  to  be  here  set 
down.  The  morning  dawned  bright  and  beauti- 
ful, but  among  the  fifty  odd  vessels  of  the  Mich- 

17 


254 


Suppressed  Sensations. 


igan  fleet  never  heard  of    afterwards  was   the 

lover' s  yacht. 

Why  didn't  I  "  write  it  up  for  the  paper  ? " 
Because  brain  fever  kept  me  in  bed  six  weeks, 

and  when  I  grew  well  it  was  stale  news.     But, 

nevertheless,  it  is  a  true  story,  and  now  first  sees 

the  light  of  print. 


